


Ever On and On - Path One

by badskippy



Series: Ever On and On [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Fluff and Angst, Ghost Sex, HEALTH WARNING - it will rip your heart out, JUMPING JESUS ON A POGOSTICK - this will hurt, M/M, Parallel Universes, Regret, Sad Bilbo, The Author Regrets Nothing, multiple canonical character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskippy/pseuds/badskippy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin Oakenshield gave up his life in the Battle of the Five Armies.  Now Bilbo Baggins must travel the road of life without the man he loved ... Or will he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Battle of the Five Armies

**Author's Note:**

> I WANT TO THANK MY VERY GOOD FRIENDS, WHYISITCLEVER AND BEETLE, FOR INVALUABLE SERVICES OF SOUNDING BOARD AND EDITING. THIS FIC WOULD NOT BE AS GOOD AS IT IS WITHOUT THEM BOTH.
> 
> MERCI BEAUCOUP, MON AMIE.
> 
> BTW - the concept for this piece and it's companion piece, _Ever On and On, Path Two_ , was inspired by the movies "Sliding Doors" and "Run Lola, Run" where the idea is one small detail, whether noticed or missed, can have a huge impact on our lives.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Often the price of success can be far greater than the heart can imagine.

* * *

 

_**11/23/2941** _

            Bilbo struck out at the Orc and it fell with the surprise of the invisible attack.  The little Hobbit laughed inwardly to himself _“This magic ring a handy thing!”,_ as he thrust his sword into the belly of another Orc.

            But even Bilbo, with his invisibility, was able to see the battle was not going well. The men, elves and dwarves were outnumbered and the Orcs and Wargs seemed to pour over the land like a poisonous wave.  But Bilbo would not give up – he had already lost so much for peace, more than he could even put into words, and he would not see it all end in defeat.

            Suddenly there was a great cry and the gates of Erebor opened and out poured Bilbo’s hopes and dreams – Thorin and his company charged into the fray with cries of death for the advancing foes.  Bilbo’s heart lifted and yet ached to see his beloved Thorin to throw himself so recklessly into the battle.  But he also had to admit that there was no one braver than Thorin and even with all that had transpired between them, Bilbo loved Thorin more than ever. 

            _“He will not stand alone!”_ Bilbo thought as he raced towards Thorin.  He would be more than happy to give his life for Thorin if it meant the mighty Dwarf-king’s safety.  Dodging, ducking and weaving his way towards Thorin, Bilbo did not see a rock, hurtled from the mountain as defense, sailing towards him.

            Pain exploded on the right side of his skull and while his Elven helmet protected him from death; darkness took him and Bilbo fell unseen to the ground.

 

 -----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Bilbo awoke some time later, but could not say how long he had been out.  There was nothing but silence around him and at first he didn’t understand why the world was so dull and colorless.

            Shaking his throbbing head to clear it, Bilbo stood to take in the scene around him. 

            _“Where did everyone go?”_ he thought.  Clearly the battle was over, but what of the outcome?  Then he saw Dwarves, Elves and Men walking about, removing bodies and helping survivors.  Victory; they had won!  He called out a greeting, but those nearest only looked around in bewilderment.  Bilbo realized that he was still wearing the ring.  _“This invisibility has its drawbacks after all!”_

            A man was coming near him and he removed his ring.

            “Who are you?!” said the man startled at Bilbo’s sudden appearance.

            Removing his helmet, Bilbo answered, “It is me, Bilbo Baggins!  Companion of Thorin!”  Bilbo’s stomach dropped and he felt a lump in his throat, _Companion of Thorin_ , _indeed._    Hot guilt ran though him but he pushed it down. He wanted to make sure Thorin was well and he didn’t want to waste time.

            “It is good that I found you!” the man exclaimed.  “You are needed and we have been looking for you long!”

            “Needed?  Why ever for?  What is wrong?!”  Bilbo felt panic raise in him.

            The man ignored the questions but asked, “Are you much hurt?”

            “A nasty knock on the head, “Bilbo answered, “but I have a helm and a hard skull.  All the same, I feel sick and my legs feel like straw.”

            “I will carry you down to the camp.”  The man swept Bilbo up in his arms and while he would normally protest at such treatment, he knew that it was for the best.

            Stepping over dead Orcs and Wargs, the man took Bilbo towards a cluster of tents to one side of the battlefield.   As they drew close Gandalf the Grey stepped into view and the man called to him.

            “Bilbo Baggins!”  Gandalf said as the man placed Bibo on the ground before him.  “Alive after all ... I am glad!  I began to wonder if your luck would see you through.”

            “Where is Thorin?!”  Bilbo demanded.  “How did the battle go?  What was the outcome?”

            A dark look spread over Gandalf’s face and his expression became somber.  “Kili and Fili are dead; other news can wait.  But come, you are called for.”

            Gandalf pulled Bilbo into the tent and the Hobbit’s eyes widened in shock.

            There before him on a small cot was the bloodied and battered form of Thorin Oakenshield.  There was little color in Thorin’s face and Bilbo could barely see his beloved king’s chest rise and fall as he rushed to his side.   Heavy bandages with angry, bright red blood seeping through them, wrapped his chest and many more wound around his arms.  His face was a patchwork of cuts and bruises.  His eyes were closed and he did not open them even as Bilbo gently took his hand.

            Gandalf stood at the foot of the cot next to Bard of Dale and the Elven-king Thranduil.  All three stood still and stony gazing down at the Dwarf-king.

            “Thorin,”  Bilbo said, barely above a whisper.  “It’s me, Bilbo.  I’m here.”

            After several long seconds without a response, Bilbo called to the king again, “Thorin ... Thorin, please open your eyes.  Please.  Please look at me.”

            There was a slow inhale and Thorin opened his eyes halfway and blinked.  He turned his head and a small smile formed as his gaze fell on the Hobbit.  Bilbo kissed the back of Thorin’s hand never taking his eyes from the king.

            “Farewell,” Thorin whispered, “good thief.”

            Bilbo chocked back a sob.  “No!  Don’t say that, Thorin.”

            “I go now to the halls of waiting to sit beside my fathers.”

            “No, you’re not.  You are going to be all right.”  Bilbo threw Gandalf a quick, questioning look but the Wizard simply looked away, unable to hold the desperate Hobbit’s gaze, least the Halfling see the awful truth written there.

            “Don’t cry, my dear burglar,” Thorin continued, “I am so sorry.  I take back my words and deeds at the gate and I wish to part … in friendship ... at least.”  Thorin’s smile faded a bit and his eyes glistened with tears.

            Bilbo could not contain his tears and he used all his efforts to keep his voice as even as possible, lest Thorin not hear him clearly.  “Oh Thorin, you have no need of my forgiveness, I never blamed you for you actions!  I hurt you ... I did all the wrong things, regardless of the right reasons!  It is I that beg your forgiveness for I love you more than I can express!”

            Thorin smiled and a tear slowly ran down his cheek.  “I forgave you the moment you were gone ... for I regretted everything as soon as I realized I had chosen hoarded gold over the one being I truly treasured.   But now I go to where all the gold and silver have no worth.”

            “No, Thorin.  No.”

            “Farewell, my sweet Bilbo ... my love”  Thorin’s eyes closed; his breathing slowed.

            “Thorin ... Thorin, please stay with me!”  Bilbo pleaded and begged, but Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, was already gone.

            Silence rang in the air and it was Bard that finally broke it.

            “We will return the Arkenstone to be buried with him,” Bard said, his voice hushed and heavy.

            “I will see that Orcrist is brought and laid upon his tomb,” Thranduil replied.

            But Bilbo jumped to his feet and fixed the two leaders with a thunderous look and his rage broke over them like a hurricane.

            “You stand there,” Bilbo screamed, “and offer those things that were most dear to him when they are now no longer of use?!  You kept them for selfish and petty reasons!”

            Bilbo glared at Bard, “You could have offered the Arkenstone freely, without any demands as a sign of good faith!  Thorin may have listened then!”

            Bilbo turned on the Elf, “And you!  You offer the sword now when it could have been of greater use when he still breathed!   You took it for no other reason than to hurt and humiliate him!

            “And you two dare to call yourselves Kings?!  YOU ARE NOT KINGS!  HE WAS A KING!  Thorin was ... king" Bilbo's voice became hoarse, his voice breaking.  "He ... he was my king,”

            His anger spent, Bilbo lowered himself back to Thorin’s side.

            “Bilbo,“ Gandalf said gently. 

            There was no response.

            “Bilbo, come away.”  Gandalf laid a hand gently on the Hobbit’s shoulder, but Bilbo pushed it off.

            “No.”

            “Bilbo,“  Gandalf tried again to lead the Halfling away, but Bilbo moved out of reach, sprang to his feet, and brandished his elvish sword.

            Bilbo only looked at the ground but said, in a lower and dangerous growl, “The next person that tries to take me from his side will feel the cold sting of my blade.”

            Sensing that Bilbo was most serious, Gandalf led Bard and Thranduil out of the tent and Bilbo was finally left in peace with the man he had loved but could not save.  He wound his arms around his king’s neck and laid his forehead on Thorin’s.  Bilbo’s grief overcame him and he cried rivers of pain and loss.

 

 

 


	2. Fit For a King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, even after it is greatly earned - respect is not fully given.

* * *

 

**_12/23/2941_ **

            As the days wore on, the great kingdom of Erebor came slowly back to life.  Each day brought more dwarves to the mountain and as they poured in, the clean-up increased.  Repairs were made and bridges fixed.  If a stone bridge was unsalvageable, the smiths were to build a new iron bridge as a replacement.  Sleeping chambers and kitchens were next.  Weaponry, jewelry, and even toy shops were all reopened so that wares could be made and sold.  Masons went out and assisted Dale with their rebuilding effort and in exchange, food began to flow back into Erebor; the old trading system quickly resumed.

            But of course, the hardest thing was the disposal of the dead.  There were so many bodies that there was not enough time to excavate new burial chambers so for several days after the battle, huge funeral pyres burned at all hours of the day and night.  However, it was decided very quickly that the bodies of Thorin and his nephews, Fili and Kili, were to be cleaned, prepared and placed in iron coffins while the royal tombs were hastily cleaned and marble sarcophagi constructed for their final burial.

            Bilbo had finally been led away from Thorin’s side several hours after his death by Thorin’s sister, Dis.  She had left her home in the Blue Mountains and arrived only a few hours after the battle was over.  Overcome as she was for her sons, she had resigned herself that they and her brother had given their lives for the people and there was no greater honor.  She quickly developed a soft spot for the little hobbit and it was only she that could understand his grief and heartache. 

            Bilbo did not speak for days after.  He did not resume crying but all food left in front of him remained untouched except for sips of cool water or Dale wine.  All the remaining company and Gandalf attempted to draw him out of his misery, but to no avail. 

            While the smiths worked overtime to finish the iron coffins for the king and princes, their bodies were kept in one of the upper icy caves with guards set to protect them.  Finally, on the fifth day, they were ready. 

            The clean-up efforts and rebuilding were shut down for the day.  Most of the people of Dale and a good number of Elves arrived.  As the crowd became somber, the bodies were brought forth and carried to the iron coffins, which Bilbo did not even notice were covered in intricate geometric shapes and runes, all designed to wish for peace and safe journeys to the next world.

            Bilbo stood next to Dis, an honored place, and made no sound as he watched Thorin’s body lowered into the black iron casket.  A small bittersweet smile graced Bilbo’s face as he looked upon Thorin dressed in beautiful robes of Midnight Blue and embroidered with Mithril thread.  He looked handsome and heroic in Bilbo’s eyes, but just as quickly his smile faded as despair seeped into the Hobbit’s breaking heart.

            A rushing noise filled Bilbo’s ears and he began to slowly walk towards the open casket.  The wind whipped his cloak about him, but he felt neither warmth nor cold, and he was oblivious to the watchful eyes of the hundreds of people forming the circle around the viewing area.  He knelt down beside the coffin and gently rearranged Thorin’s braids coming from his temples, although they didn’t need it. 

            Suddenly, Bilbo realized that someone was standing next to him and he looked up to see King Bard standing there.  Bard reached out his hand and there lay the Arkenstone.  _“Of course,”_ thought Bilbo, _“we mustn’t forget that.”_

            Bilbo’s small hands slowly took the radiant jewel and placed it over Thorin’s heart.  It was only then, as Bilbo drew back his hands, that they brushed against Thorin’s folded ones and the Halfling realized how terribly cold and lifeless they were.  Reality hit him and his grief, which was thought spent, rushed forth like a flood and he crumpled over the side of the coffin and wept.

            The viewers were taken by the sorrow of the little Hobbit and most began to cry anew at the sight.  They all had such regard for Bilbo after everything he had done for them, their kingdom and their King, that the least they could do was share in his misery and pain.  Finally, Dis came forward and again led him away as the Dwarf choir sang a lament and the lids were placed upon the caskets and sealed.

            It took thirty dwarf warriors, ten per casket, 5 per side, to lift and carry the three coffins to the royal tombs.  The entire procession walked through the front gate Erebor and through the main part of the kingdom.  Once the tomb was reached only a small contingent of mourners followed to the end; the remaining Company, Dis, Dain – who was to take possession of the throne of Erebor – King Bard, Thranduil, Gandalf and of course, Bilbo. 

            Bilbo could not say later how he got there.  He remembered nothing of the slow march to the tomb and it was only as the coffins were placed and pallbearers had left that he became aware of where he was. 

            There were prayers and short eulogies by the members of the Company and Gandalf.  King Bard and Thranduil also gave praise and restated their commitment to peace and the fragile forming alliance between themselves and Erebor.

            It was Dain – who had refused to come or send any dwarf warriors to assist in taking back Erebor – that waxed poetic about Thorin.  Bilbo felt vile resentment and anger but he kept his peace as much for Dis and the others as for himself and his love of Thorin and the princes. 

            Bilbo closed his eyes rather than listen to Dain and pictured happier days and fair weather with Thorin.  He recalled when they had bathed after descending the Carrock and it was then that Thorin and he had looked anew at each other and realized something building between them.  Thorin had suddenly gotten shy when speaking with Bilbo after that and of course, that endeared Thorin to him even more.  If Dain thought Bilbo was smiling because of his speech, Bilbo didn’t care.

            Finally, Dain finished and it was time to go.   Bard and Thranduil took their leave  and turned to go.  Dis and Gandalf flanked the Hobbit and had silently agreed to wait for Bilbo to lead the way out.  The remaining company members waited as well, as Bilbo went to talk with Dain.

            “Thank you, Dain,” Bilbo said, refusing to use any title that was rightfully Thorin’s in his opinion, “your words were much appreciated.” _Especially since I got to think of Thorin instead_ , Bilbo thought.

            “Thank you, Master Burglar,” Dain replied with a sugary smile.  But it was Dain’s casual use of Thorin’s nickname for him that pushed Bilbo to another level of pain and he could not contain himself and a tear fell again.

            “Oh I am sorry, Master Baggins,” Dain said, sounding suspiciously like he wasn’t at all.

            Bilbo just nodded to Dain and turned to go. _I have to get out of here_ , he thought, _I have to get away because the walls are closing in and I need to breathe or else I will just lie down and never get up._

But Bilbo hadn’t taken three steps when Dain made the worst mistake.  “I know just how you feel, Mister Baggins,” Dain said to Bilbo’s retreating back.

            Bilbo stopped dead and his tears turned hot and dried up as the resentment filled him.  He took a deep breath and turned on the Dwarf.

            “You do, do you?”  Bilbo said quietly, and the others in the tomb felt a chill.  “You know how I feel?  Tell me, Dain, how is it possible that I am able to stand upright and breathe?  How am I able to continue on minute by minute?  What restrains me from running to the top of the tallest set of stairs and flinging myself down them in a final act so that I can have the honor and privilege to be buried next to Thorin Oakenshield for eternity?

            “Pray tell me the answers to these questions – seeing how ‘ _you know how I feel_.’  Because I don’t know the answers.”

            Bilbo fixed Dain with a fierce stare, but the Dwarf could only look back at him, dumbstruck.  Bilbo did not see the shocked but impressed looks on the company’s faces – although, Ori, who had become good friends with Bilbo, did start to cry and turned to Dwalin for comfort – and Dis and Gandalf smiled smugly at Dain in his discomfort. 

            Bilbo only waited a few long seconds for a reply, which he knew would not come, before he turned smartly on his heels and marched out of the chamber with his back straight and his head high.

            _Thick-headed Dwarf!_ Bilbo thought. _Don’t you dare presume to know how I feel!_

 

 -----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            The celebratory feast in Thorin’s name was wonderful, even if a bit on the unremarkable side.  There was not a huge amount of food but thanks to the men of Dale and the Elves, there was good meat, fresh vegetables and somehow, Bombur had found the ingredients for several beautiful cakes.

            A separate table had been set up just for the company and Dis.  Of course, this table was the loudest and there was much laughter as they told stories and victories of Thorin.

            After his dressing down of Dain, Bilbo had to admit he felt much better.  He ate and he actually wanted to eat.   Of course, it was slow going as almost everyone at the table was talking and laughing about Bilbo and Dain. 

            Bofur did a great impression of Dain’s face and the company roared with laughter. “I thought Dain was going to shit rocks when you shot him that look, Bilbo!”  Bofur said to the amazement of the whole table.

            “I am very proud of you Bilbo,” Dis said. “You put that pompous windbag in his place!”  Dwalin, Bofur, Nori and Gloin all shouted their agreement.

            “I have no doubt, Lady Dis,” Bilbo replied, with a rather knowing smile, “that if I hadn’t said something, you would have.”

            Dis laughed heartily, “You know me too well already, Master Baggins!”

            As the feast wrapped up, Bilbo realized that he was very tired.  He hadn’t slept well in days but he longed to just lie down and surrender to sleep.  He didn’t want to admit it, but part of him was a bit afraid – he feared, and yet hoped, he would dream of Thorin and be with him again – but he also knew he would have to wake up alone in a cold bed and he was not sure he could bear it.  But sleep he must and he went to take his leave of Thorin’s sister.

            “Good night, my lady,” Bilbo said, coming up as she was wishing Balin good-evening.  “It is time for me to find a bed and sleep.”

            “Bilbo,” Dis replied.  “I have something I want to ask you before you go.  I want you to know that you would be most welcome to stay here with us for as long as you wish.”

            Bilbo was so touched and he felt a lump in his throat.  “Thank you, Dis.  But I think the time is approaching for me to return to the Shire.”  He didn’t want to say that he was dreading it, but he couldn’t deny it.  Going home had been the goal for when Erebor was taken back.  But now he felt like he was returning home in defeat without Thorin.

            “You know that we would love to have you stay, Bilbo.”  Dis was not going to give up easily.  “The company all agree that you are as welcome here as any dwarf returning.”

            “I know.  And I will miss them.  I will miss everyone.  But without Thorin, even my friends of the company are not enough to fill the emptiness I feel.

            “Thorin should be sitting on that throne and he should be ruling but instead, the man who refused to help, now has a throne that my love gave his life to reclaim.”  Bitterness was rising up in him and he had to try hard to push it down.

            Lady Dis nodded her head in understanding.  “When do you think you will be leaving, then?”

            “When the marble sarcophagi are completed and Thorin, Fili and Kili are finally placed at rest, then it will be time to go.”

            “Then less than a month.  I have already seen them and they are just finishing the last touches.”  Lady Dis was very somber.  “I will not wish you good-bye as yet, Bilbo Baggins.  I hold out hope that you may change your mind.”

            Bilbo knew if he stayed any longer, he would tip over the edge and lose himself to tears once more.  He gave Dis a small smile and left.  Bilbo took off as quickly as he could to Ori’s chamber, as he had been kind enough to let Bilbo stay with him for the remainder of his stay.  Bilbo was grateful to the young Dwarf and he thought, _If I cry there, it will be okay.  Ori will surely understand._

 

 -----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Bilbo felt sick to his stomach.  “It’s a disgrace,” Bilbo said, neither able or willing to hide his disgust and anger.

            “Sadly,” said Dis, “there isn’t anything to be done about it.

            They were standing in the Royal Tomb looking at the completed white marble sarcophagi of Thorin, Fili, and Kili.  The princes’ were simple without effigies, but they did have the beautiful cut Khuzdul runes circling the outside.  Thorin’s was magnificent as his also had the runes around the outside but his were inlaid with gold.  His effigy was beautifully done and, as promised, Thranduil had returned the sword Orcrist and it was now placed in the effigy’s hands. 

            What upset Bilbo though, was the marker at the base of the sarcophagus. In gold inlaid runes, it read …

 

THORIN

SON OF THRAIN, SON OF THROR

LIBERATOR OF EREBOR

 

            “I am appalled,” Bilbo continued, “that Dain did not put the title of King on his tomb marker!”

            “Dain stated,” Dis replied, “that since he wasn’t coronated and that the kingdom was not actually restored when he died, it would be ‘inappropriate’ for his marker to bear the title of King.”

            “Dain is lucky he didn’t tell me that.”

            “Well, originally, he didn’t want to entomb Thorin here at all as he tried to use the same logic to say that only a true King should be entombed here.”

            “WHAT?!”  Bilbo was starting to boil.

            “Clearly, he changed his mind,” Dis said with a smirk.  “After I found out about it, I had word spread quickly through the kingdom and most people were outraged.  Dain almost had a riot on his hands.”  At this point Dis just chuckled.

            “It’s bad enough that Thorin will be down here, in the dark, all alone.  But to be denied the title of King!”

            “I understand, Bilbo.  But there isn’t much to do about it.  Of course, He won’t be in the dark.”

            “What?  They keep the torches lit at all times down here?”

            “No, silly!” Dis teased, turning the hobbit around so that they were looking up at the ceiling behind them.  “See those cut-outs in the rock up there?  Those are actually small widows that use silver mirrors to reflect sunlight all the way down here.”

            Bilbo was amazed!  “So when the Sun hits them just right, sunshine will flood the tomb?!”

            “Exactly.  Thorin and the boys will not be left in the dark, forgotten.”

            Bilbo was happier, but still beside himself.  But he had to agree; there was nothing he could do.  It wasn’t like he could just sneak down here and …. _Oh, wait a minute_ ,  Bilbo had a brilliant idea!   He just needed to steal the key to the Royal Tomb from Dain!   What could go wrong?

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo----- 

 

            “I don’t know,” Ori said nervously, “it sounds very risky.”

            “Don’t worry, Ori,” Bilbo said soothingly. “You just get me the supplies and I will do the rest.”

            “Well –“

            “Look,” Bilbo said, pulling some parchment and a quill towards himself, “just write these words out for me in Khuzdul and get me the ink and whatever special writing instrument I need and I will get the key and do the rest.  What can go wrong?”

            “You could be caught and killed!”  Ori cried.

            “Ori,” Bilbo said with a mischievous smile, “Dain won’t even see me."

 

 -----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Sneaking in to the king’s bedchamber had been as easy as pie.  All Bilbo had to do was slip on his magic ring, follow Dain through the door and then wait for him to remove the key from his discarded belt.  Actually, with the way Dain kept talking to himself and talking about how great he was, etc., etc., Bilbo felt that he could have walked right in and taken it in plain sight for all the notice Dain gave his surroundings.             

 _Thorin would never be so careless!_  Bilbo thought.  _Dain is such an idiot._

Once he had the key in hand, Bilbo raced unseen to the royal tombs.  His face was hot and he knew that he was really pushing his luck, but he didn’t give a damn.  He was going to correct the wrong, even if he had to do it himself!

            As he reached the locked door, Bilbo realized that he might walk in on a guard.  Because of Orcrist, it was decided that a guard would be stationed in the tomb to make sure that it was not stolen.  In the event that the blade glowed blue to indicate Orcs, the guard would alert the defenses.  But Bilbo wasn’t sure it there was a guard present or not.  _Oh, well,_ Bilbo mused, _it will give the poor man the frights to see the door unlock and open on its own._  

            Upon entering, Bilbo sighted in relief – there was no guard yet stationed.  He closed the door swiftly.  He had to work quickly because if he was right, the time was almost here.

            Bilbo removed his rucksack and took out the supplies that Ori had gotten from the archive; silver pen with mithril tip that could write on any surface, mithril ink and the parchment with the Khuzdul writing.  Ori had even been kind enough to write under each Khuzdul word its translation in Westron so that Bilbo wouldn’t make a mistake.

            At that moment the light in the room began to intensify.  The moon was full tonight and Bilbo had timed his arrival to coincide with the alignment of the tomb windows.  Thorin’s white marble marker reflected the moonlight as if it was radiating it itself.  Bilbo was awestruck for a moment, but then quickly uncorked the ink bottle, placed the parchment where he could see it and dipped the pen in the ink and got to work. 

            He worked as quickly as he could but slowly enough to ensure nice even letters.  When he was finished he sat back and looked at the change the Moon Runes had on the marker.  It now read ….

 

KING THORIN II

SON OF THRAIN, SON OF THROR

Beloved of Bilbo Baggins

LIBERATOR OF EREBOR

True King of Erebor

 

            Bilbo was happier now.  The marker said what should have been put there in the first place.  The Moon Runes were beautiful on the white marble, between the gold inlaid Khuzdul runes. 

            “I wish it were more, my love,” Bilbo whispered to the lifeless tomb.  He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Thorin’s name and a few tears rolled down and splashed on the drying mithril runes.  As the moon began to pass, he watched as the Moon runes slowly faded.  It would only be seen if someone were down here on a full moon during the midwinter month, but Bilbo didn’t care.  He knew it was there.  That was enough.

            Bilbo repacked everything and made to leave.  He opened the tomb door and then stopped to check the outer corridor.  Clear; he was all set.  He closed the tomb door and locked it.  He just had to make his way back to Dain’s chambers and replace the key.  Dain would be none the wiser.

_Bilbo …._

Bilbo spun around, swearing he heard his name.  Panic hit him but there was no one there.  He was tired and he knew it.  _My_ _mind is playing tricks on me,_ Bilbo thought.  He raced up the stairwell. 

            He knew that the time had come.  It was time to find Gandalf and leave Erebor first thing in the morning.  There was nothing left for him now but pain and sorrow.  He just wanted to be back at Bag End.  If he had to mourn, he wanted to do it where he could be alone, with only Thorin’s memory to comfort him.

 

 

 


	3. Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first year can be the hardest

* * *

 

**_12/23/2942_ **

            Going home was not as quick as the journey away.  But this time, Bilbo was able to spend the winter months in Rivendell and learn much about the Elves.  He was very happy to spend so much time reading in Elrond’s library and talking with the Elves; learning their language and customs.  But Bilbo could also not deny that a small part of him felt guilty.  _Thorin would be so cross_ , Bilbo thought many times.

            Finally, as spring arrived, the time came to continue on home.  On a cool spring morning, Bilbo and Gandalf left for the Shire.  Along the way, they stopped to retrieved much of the gold that was buried and hidden in the Troll’s cave.  Bilbo had tried to give most of it to Gandalf so that it might do good elsewhere – Bilbo felt he had more than enough for his lifetime, but Gandalf said that Bilbo might have greater need than he thought.  This was unsettling but Bilbo didn’t argue. 

            It was only after arriving at home that Bilbo understood.

            His cousin, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, and her husband, Otho, were in the middle of auctioning off all his possessions as she had gotten the Mayor of the Shire to declare Bilbo dead.   She even went so far as to claim that the Bilbo Baggins who returned was not the real Bilbo Baggins at all but an imposter and possible shape-shifter.  It didn’t take long for many to realize that he was, in fact, the real Bilbo and as Lobelia was never popular because of her extreme avarice.  It was ridiculous really, but in the end, it was relatively a simple matter; Bilbo only had to show his signature on the original contract for the Hobbits to believe that he was, indeed, _THE_ Bilbo Baggins.

            Of course, the procedure wasn't without a small stab to his heart.

           

_"Who is this here," the auctioneer asked, "signed at the bottom; who is this, Thorin Oakenshield?"_

_"He ... he was..." Bilbo's mouth went dry._

_He was a Dwarf._

_He was an imposing figure._

_He was bravery and courage themselves._

_He was stubborn.  He was pigheaded._

_He was kind.  He was tender._

_He was everything a Hobbit could ever dream of._

_He was more to me than words or song could ever describe._

_He was the only being in the entire world I ever truly loved._

_He was someone you would never understand._

_"... he was my friend," Bilbo finally choked out._

 

 _  
_             When he had entered his smial for the first time in over a year, it was empty except for the few scrapes and items that no one had wanted.  It hit him suddenly that it was a physical manifestation of his old life; empty and meaningless without the memories of his adventure to fill it.  So fill it did, although, if he was honest, there was always a small part of the place that was missing; the part that buried back in Erebor in a marble tomb.

            By the end of summer, Bilbo had settled back in Bag End and there were only a few of his parents’ antiques left to reclaim.  The most satisfying thing was how as the months wore on, more and more people turned on Lobelia whenever she tried to gossip about “poor Mister Bilbo” behind his back.  Sure, Bilbo was now seen as “odd,” “queer” or even “unrespectable,” but most just stated that it was the fault of the journey and used it as an example of why one should not go looking for adventures.  Frankly, Bilbo just didn’t care anymore.  He had faced trolls, Orcs, Wargs, giant spiders and a dragon – he could deal with Lobelia and a bit of gossip.

            It did help though, when Dwarf friends and Elves who past through would stop for a visit.  In fact, it had been that first summer home that Gandalf had paid a call and brought along Balin. 

            Bilbo and Balin fell into talking of the rebuilding and how wonderful everything was going.  Thanks to Lady Dis and the company, Dain was stopped from soiling Thorin’s memory and much that had been envisioned by Thorin came to fruition. 

            Before leaving though, Balin presented Bilbo with the map used by Thorin on their quest.  Bilbo was touched and he could not help but run his hands gently over the thick parchment, trying to find any trace of Thorin’s touch still clinging to it.  Bilbo had the map framed and it hung over the fireplace with his sword, Sting, which Elrond had inscribed after hearing the tales of battling giant spiders in the Mirkwood Forest. 

            Even with the visits of friends and travelers, he kept to himself and Bilbo could not deny he was lonely.  It was his Took nieces and nephews who defied their elders and came to seek out “Uncle Bilbo” and learn of his adventures!  He thanked Eru daily for the children.

            “Tell us about your adventures!”  They would ask and plead no matter how many times they had all heard it before.  Bilbo was touched and more often than not, he would give them all muffins and cakes, cups of steaming hot cocoa and sit them all in front of the hearth and tell it again.  But of course, Bilbo didn’t tell them everything.

            “Once upon a time, there lived a very respectable Hobbit.”  _Who was so lonely and had no one to love._

 _“_ And one night, twelve dwarrow knocked on his door.” _They were all so wonderful and I was such a fool not to see their worth right away.  They were the best friends anyone could ask for._

            “Then a Wizard showed up.”  _A Wizard who was not only a dear friend, but who saw in me all the things I couldn’t see myself._

            “Suddenly there was another knock at the door, and it was the Dwarf king!”  _He was so handsome and brave and there was so much pain in his heart and I loved him almost on sight but I was just too blind to see it._

“They sang a song about their lost home.”  _My heart ached just hearing Thorin’s voice and I wanted to rush to him and hold him close but I was afraid and I let my fears guide me that night._

            “When I woke in the morning, they were all gone, but I decided to follow them.”  _No choice really.  I was overwhelmed with the emotion of emptiness and I still could not see Thorin for all that he was and what I was starting to feel for him, but I knew I had to run out my door after him and hope I wasn’t too late._

            “We traveled for weeks and then came to see the Elves.”  _Thorin was so resistant to let them help.  I saw and felt the pain and anguish in him and again I had the urge to rush to him; to help him, to comfort him, but I thought I was not what he wanted._

            “On the mountainside we were caught in a giant’s battle!”  _I thought I would die and then Thorin  jumped to save me as I began to fall.  I thought he was angry with me and he didn’t want me near him, but it was only later that the truth came out._

            “We were caught by goblins and their king. but we all escaped!”  _Falling down into the pit of the mountain, my only thought was that Thorin might be hurt.  Down I went and the further I got from him, the more my heart feared._

            “We were then cornered by Orcs and Wargs but we escaped on giant Eagles!” _I could barely breathe watching the Pale Orc’s warg toss Thorin around like a toy.  I was scared, but not for me, I was frightened Thorin would die and I knew, in that terrible moment, I was in love with him and I would gladly die to protect him._

            “The Eagles took as to a giant rock where we were safe.”  _Relief cannot begin to describe all that I was feeling at that moment.  Even when Thorin stood and yelled at me, I was happy because I would rather have his wrath, than lose him completely.  And then he said he was wrong; sorry to have doubted me and he drew me to him.  I thought my heart would burst from joy._

            “We rested and bathed at that point.”  _Thorin and I had found ourselves alone in the river bathing; the others having finished and gone back to the camp.  We were standing close to each other and we both caught the others’ eye.  He moved to stand before me and reached out his hand, brushed the hair off my forehead and thanked me again for saving him.  I could only smile and tell him that I would gladly do it all again.   It was then, as he looked at me anew, that he pulled me close and kissed me.  He told me that he had worried about me since leaving Rivendell and that in the mountains, he was not angry with me, but angry with himself; for he thought he might have lost me and it scared him.  There is no word to describe the bliss and elation I felt.  I knew then what it was to be complete._

“We stayed with a skin-changer who could turn into a giant bear!”  _Thorin was so shy talking with me.  It was so endearing.  But I found out later part of him was afraid; not only that I would see all his flaws but that when we did make it to Erebor, I would have to face Smaug the Terrible on my own – he feared for my life and felt guilty for having to send  me in.  We slept close to each other that night – no one noticed or at least didn’t care._

            “Then the company got taken by the Elves and I had to battle giant spiders to rescue them.”  _My only thought was to get to Thorin, to make sure he was safe.  I needed him and at the moment, he needed me.  I couldn’t and wouldn’t let him down.  When he saw me, he was worried for me, for my safety; feared the Elves would harm me if they caught me.  I loved him all the more for his concern._

 _“_ Then we reached the Lonely Mountain and I played a riddle game with the dragon so I could find his weakness.”  _I was determined to find Smaug’s weakness, anything to end his rule of the mountain and return Thorin to his rightful place.  I wanted so much to do something, anything, to prove my love to him._

            “Then the dragon was dead but the Gold-Sickness took the king and he was driven mad with it!”   _By Eru, it was awful.  Thorin could not be reasoned with and he all but forgot me in the madness that took him.  I feared it would lead to his downfall, or worse, his death.  I found and hid the Arkenstone from him.  I made the choice to keep it from him to help him, never realizing I was making a grave mistake._

            “The King no longer recognized friend from foe.” _He tried to kill me in his madness and anger; throwing me over the wall and hanging me by my collar and bellowing at me; cursing and denouncing me as a thief and liar. Something in me broke because he looked at me in pain and grief and madness and he was no longer my Thorin and I could only plead and beg him to stop and come back to me.  I should have done something else.  I should have tried another way.  I should have done more but I was a fool._

            “Then the Orcs and Wargs attacked and it was them against the armies of Men, Elves and Dwarrow.”   _I was fighting along with the Elves but I so desperately wanted to be with Thorin and fight by his side.  I wanted to show him that I would gladly give my life to aid and protect him; to show him I still loved him.  But in the end, I failed and he was the one that gave up his life.  He called for me before he died and we both asked for forgiveness, but all I wanted was more time; more time to live, more time to laugh, more time to speak, more time to love – but time was the one thing we could not give each other._

            “But there was victory and I returned home to Bag End!”  _I returned home with more gold than I could count but I was more alone and empty than when I started on my journey, for I had lost my heart and the man I loved.  I lost him because I betrayed him and now I am punished by the Gods to be without him, always._

“Uncle Bilbo, Uncle Bilbo!”  They would shout.  “Tell us again.”  And each time the story got more elaborate and Bilbo’s heart would die a little more.   The real story too pain to tell, too sorrowful to admit.   He kept to himself.  He ignored the rumors and went about his business.  There was nothing else to it.

            As the winter set in and the first anniversary of the battle approached, Bilbo withdrew into his comfortable home and dreamed of a time when the world was brighter; when he had love right in the palm of his hand. 

            It was getting colder and the winter was setting in much earlier this year.  Bilbo hoped another Fell Winter was not approaching.  It would mean lean hard times for those Hobbits less fortunate, but Bilbo already had plans to help those who needed it.  He was not going to let anyone starve if he could help it and he made sure his pantry was well stocked and ready if a midday meal or supper needed to be offered.  He had failed Thorin; he wanted to make sure he didn’t fail anyone again.

            By mid-winter month, the frost dusted the windows and the darkness set in early.  Bilbo started going to bed earlier.  He would feel tired from the cold and just wanted to sleep.  He would check the windows, lock the doors and blow out all the candles save one and head to bed. 

            On one such night, he chose a book on Elvish recipes and headed to the bedroom.  Once changed, he climbed into bed and snuggled down to read. 

            _“Bilbo …”_

Bilbo sat very still.  He could swear he had heard his name.  But he dismissed it.  _It’s the wind, you silly Hobbit_.

            _“Bilbo …”_

Like a whisper on the wind, Bilbo could not tell where it was coming from.  “Hello?”  He called out.  “Is there someone there?”  There was no response, other than the low moan of the wind outside _.  I must be more tired than I know_ , Bilbo thought and leaned over to blow out the candle.

            _“Bilbo … come to me …“_

The hair on the back of Bilbo’s neck stood up.  He knew he heard it. 

            He slowly peeled back the covers, put on his robe, took the candle in hand and ventured out into the darkened hallway.  Nothing.  He peeked into the rooms he passed as he crept towards the front hall.  He peered around the corner but there was still saw nothing.  He silently kicked himself for hanging Sting above the front fireplace but he had his magic ring and he clutched it in his free hand, just in case.

            He tiptoed his way to the front door and checked – it was locked.   Nothing.  He started to feel foolish.   _Just the wind_ , he thought and laughed at himself.  _Maybe all those Hobbits are right – you are Mad Bilbo Baggins._   He began to turn back when something in the front parlor caught the his eye.  He turned his head to look and froze.  As his face drained of color, so too did his mind drain of rational thought.

            There in the moonlight streaming through the large parlor window was Thorin; but he was not Thorin.  It was as if he was made of smoke.  Bilbo could see the kitchen through him.  

            Bilbo couldn’t move.  Never in all his life had he seen such a sight and there was a rushing in his ears.  _Insane, you’ve gone insane Bilbo Baggins, it can’t be, it just can’t be._   But there Thorin stood, or rather his ghost did. 

            When Bilbo did not move or say a word, Thorin came towards him.  Bilbo heard the subtle groan and creak of the wooden floor with each step and Thorin’s belt buckles clinked together and sounded like faint bells in the far-off distance.  Bilbo began to shake as Thorin drew nearer but he was rooted to the spot and finally, the spirit reached out to stroke Bilbo’s face.

            _“Bilbo … I have missed you so …”_

            Bilbo was trembling but not from fear.   The echo of Thorin’s touch on his skin felt cool like a whispered breeze along his cheek.  Another touch move through his hair.  He closed his eyes and he heard Thorin whisper in his ear.

            _“I am bound to you Bilbo … I can feel your pain and your love … they fill me completely … I am with you, my love …”_

            Bilbo let out a low moan.  He couldn’t believe what was clearly happening but he could not deny the longing and passion rising, taking over his being; his very soul.   Thorin’s touch was moving over him and he was losing himself in it.  But he didn’t care. 

            “Oh, Thorin!”  Bilbo whispered.  “What is happening?!”

            _“You summoned me … bound me to you …”_

            ”What do you mean?  I don’t understand.” Bilbo was becoming lightheaded.  He could feel Thorin’s touch through his clothes and it was moving ever lower, seeking that which Bilbo had only ever shared with Thorin in the living world.

            _“Whatever you did … you brought me forth … you made me a part of you … I am bound to your soul, Bilbo …”_

            “What … what are you saying?”  Bilbo’s head was being turned and he felt the brush of lips against his neck.  He was becoming intoxicated and the emotions coming from Thorin’s spirit merged with his own and they were overwhelming him, but again, Bilbo didn’t care.  _If this is what it means to drown, then let me go under._

_“From the blackness of death … you summoned me … I could feel the pull of your pain and love … I could hear your voice like an echo … you wished it was more …”_

Bilbo’s eyes flew open and with his head turned, he saw the full moon shining through the window and heard an echo of his own voice in his head … _“I wish it was more, my love.”_

            O _h by Eru, what did I do?_   Full moon … mid-winter month … the silver runes upon Thorin’s tomb marker … his tears; tears splashing and merging with the drying runes.

            “The Moon Runes!” Bilbo was shocked.

            _“Moon runes are more than runes … they are filled with a magic of their own … they are rarely used because of their power … you have bound me to your soul … what you feel, I feel … “_

Bilbo thought his heart would stop.  “Thorin!”  Bilbo was horrified.  “Oh Thorin, I am so sorry!  I only wanted to … I didn’t mean to …”

            _“I beg you, Bilbo … Do not despair … I can feel your sorrow and pain … I feel what you feel … remember … remember your love … for me …”_

Bilbo took the words to heart and tried to dispel his guilt at what he had done.  _Feel passion; remember; remember love,_ he told himself.  And as the echo within him roared to life, he felt Thorin’s spirit grow stronger; grow more urgent; become one with him.

            _“I have longed for you, Bilbo … I want you … I want to be with you …”_

“Oh, Thorin!  I love you so much!”  Bilbo felt ghostly arms embrace and stroke him; his mind reeled at the sensations spreading over his body.   Suddenly it all faded.  Thorin’s spirit was not there.  “No!  Don’t go!  Please!”

            _“Bilbo … come to me …”_

            Bilbo heard the voice behind him.  He turned and ran down the hall.

            _“Bilbo …”_

            Thorin’s spirit called and Bilbo followed, back to his bedroom.  There in the moonlight, Thorin’s spirit stood waiting.  Bilbo did not wait to be told but undressed and lay upon the bed and in that moment he was engulfed.  The spirit was everywhere at once and Bilbo felt hands, kisses, pure pleasure all over, all at once.  All his hopes and dreams of the past rushed to the present and he was with Thorin, finally and completely in a way he never thought possible.

            _“Feel love, Bilbo … let it consume your soul … for I have longed for you … even in this dull and colorless world … you are the only bright thing I see …”_

Something in Bilbo surfaced; a memory.  Dull and colorless world.

            “Wait!”  Bilbo cried.  “What do you mean by that?  What world?”

            _“I am in-between … neither the void of death … nor the light of living …”_

            “Oh my --”  Bilbo reached for his robe and removed the magic ring.  “Thorin.  Show yourself to me.”

            _“I am here, my love …”_

            Thorin’s spirit materialized in front of Bilbo as he knelt on the bed.  Bilbo gave Thorin’s spirit a small smile.  _This is crazy.  Can it be this simple?_ Bilbo thought as he slipped the ring on his finger.

            The world of the living faded to a dull and colorless mist around him and Bilbo watched as Thorin grew more solid.  Not whole. but it was near impossible to see through him. 

            Thorin’s eyes widened.  _“How is this possible?  What sort of magic is this?”_

            “I don’t know,” Bilbo said, beyond surprised, “and I don’t care!”

            They both looked at the other; afraid to believe.  Without words, they slowly raised their hands and reached for each other.  Neither could, nor would, stop.  Come what may, they reached.

            And then, they touched. 

            Like the feeling of water or silk; there was no solidity but there was substance.  Without another word, they were in each other’s arms.  They pulled each other tightly together.  Their mouths met and their world was nothing but touch and emotion.  Thorin rained kisses over Bilbo’s face and neck, pushing him back and lying upon him.  Bilbo could felt Thorin’s passion grow and expand, like his own, and it covered Bilbo like a wave; he wanted to drown in it.  Thorin held Bilbo’s wrists above Bilbo’s head; wanting to possess, wanting to conquer and Bilbo surrendered.  Bilbo grew hard and his sex was ready.  He had never felt passion like this and he reveled in it.  Thorin only continued to match and meet Bilbo’s desires and urges. 

            “Take me, Thorin,” Bilbo cried, “claim me please!”

            Thorin needed no other command and soon his hands were running over Bilbo’s body and down between his legs, encompassing Bilbo’s member.  Thorin’s kisses moving down his chest.  Bilbo was getting closer and closer and wasn’t sure if he could hold back his climax, but he didn’t want it to end.  He wanted to stay like this forever; never let Thorin go.  But Thorin was not slowing and it was not long before Bilbo’s breath grew heavier and ragged and his thoughts were blown away like seeds in the wind.

            “Thorin!”  Bilbo cried as he could not hold back any longer and his climax shot from him over and over until all thought was of pleasure and lightness.  Bilbo felt Thorin’s emotions surge through him and Thorin growled like a bear as Bilbo’s orgasm filled his soul.   

            “I love you, Thorin.  With all my heart and soul, I love you.”

            _“And I you, Bilbo.  And I know your heart and soul; for I am one with them.”_

            The rest of the night was filled with love, and twice more Bilbo was brought to passion’s climax.  There were not words for him to describe the love that they shared. 

            But it was not to last.

            As the morning approached, Bilbo felt Thorin’s spirit grow weaker; thinner in his arms.

            _“I must leave you now, my sweet Hobbit.”_   Thorin sounded pained and his face betrayed sorrow.

            “No!”  Bilbo was near frantic.  “You can’t go!”

            _“I must.  I have only this night and then, as the moon sets, I must go.”_

            “But I can wear the ring always if I need too!”

            _“It is nothing to do with your ring or you.  I am tied to the moon just as the runes on my tomb marker are.  As the moon sets, and the runes fade, so do I.”_

            Bilbo suddenly understood and was again horrified.  “Does that mean –“ Bilbo started.

            _“Look for me, my love, with the rising of the first full moon of the mid-winter month.  I will return and we will be together.”_

            “No, Thorin!” Bilbo began to sob.  “Please, stay with me!”

            _“Good-bye my love … look for me … in the moonlight … and know, I love you. Always …”_

Thorin faded. and grief, like a wound long thought healed, ripped open in Bilbo like a great chasm and his pain and sorrow overwhelmed him.  He lay on the bed; his ring slipped from his finger and Bilbo found himself alone and cold in the rising dawn.

 

 

 


	4. Birthday

* * *

 

_**09/22/2946** _

            _Wind through the trees has to be one of the most beautiful sounds,_ Bilbo thought.  _Of course, there is also the splash of water from a waterfall or the crunch of leaves when you walk through the forest.  Or the sound of a heartbeat, beating in time with one’s own._

He slowed for just a moment on that thought.  A dull ache pulled in his chest and he took a few deep breaths before straightening up and continuing on his way.

            Heading back to Bag End from his four day outing was a bit anticlimactic, but Bilbo knew he shouldn’t stay away too long lest he forget Lobelia and her ever-present desire to get her hands on his home.  He just needed to get away every now and then and a few days in the wild, even if it was only the wild and forests of the Shire, was just the thing to settle him.  Even after five years home, he still missed the travels he took to Erebor.

            Erebor.  How he misses it.  He still got letters from the company but they came less frequently now.  The feelings and sentiments were all there and everyone asked him to return for a visit, but all their lives had gone on and unfortunately it left little time for writing.  Bilbo wrote back as soon as he received the letters but it took so long for them to be delivered and he knew the company was busy with work and family.  Still, he was happy for them.  Well, almost happy.

            Bilbo had to stop for a minute and he sat on a large rock on the side of the trail.  It was the moments where he thought about Erebor that he would eventually think about Thorin and dream of the life they might have had together.  Would they be happy?  Yes, he was sure they would have been.  Would they have married?  Yes, he was sure of that too.  Would the dwarrow accept him as consort even thought he was not a dwarf?  He hoped so.  Ultimately, he didn’t care about anything; he just wished he had had the chance to just find out. 

            _Don’t be mawkish, Bilbo Baggins.  You can’t change what has happened and frankly, you have done more than you should have and you know it._ As always, the river of thought that was “What ifs” turned to guilt over how he had trapped Thorin’s spirit to him.  But a greedy part of himself would snake up within and whisper that at least he had him one night a year and asked him that very dreaded question – _would you do it again if you knew then what you know now?_ Bilbo didn’t like that question because he was sure that the answer would be yes.

            Twilight was fast approaching and Bilbo knew that he was still hours away; he wouldn’t arrive home until the wee hours of the morning.   His reputation was already ruined but the idea of tiptoeing through Hobbiton in the middle of the night would only add to the whispers and looks.  He didn’t really care, but he just didn’t want his neighbors, _those nosy busy-bodies and their gossip_ , following him around; it annoyed him.  He had just gotten to the point where he was starting to be ignored when out and about in town and he liked that.  _Just leave me alone and go about your own bloody business._

            No, he would make camp, cook the last of his small provisions and bunk down for the night.  He looked around for a nice tree that had a fat branch close to the ground but high enough for observing.  Even in the Shire, there was no point in not taking precautions; Thorin taught him that.

            Finally, settling on a nice spot just off the path, and cleaning up the remains of his dinner and putting out the fire, Bilbo climbed the tree he chose and settled into the crook of the limb and the tree.  It was perfect.  

            As the night closed in and the sounds of crickets could be heard around him, he lazily watched the fireflies in the distance and his mind wandered to another time and place when another tree limb held the most precious of treasures.

 

 -----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

_**Five years earlier** _

_The climb down from the top of The Carrock was difficult. Thorin was on his feet but the going was slow. By the time they had reached the bottom, it was late afternoon and since there was a small river nearby, it was decided they should make camp and rest. They could all bathe and get a decent sleep and then be off first thing in the morning._

_Bilbo was the least tired of them all. Yes, he had fallen into the heart of the mountain and riddled with that insane creature, but he had not had to run to escape from goblins and then also battle Orcs. As such, he insisted that he stay behind and set up camp while the others partook of the river. Truth be told, however, he was glad to do it because this meant he would have some privacy when bathing himself. It was not that he was ashamed or even shy, but the idea of fourteen males all bathing together in close quarters was a bit much for him to take. No, he would set up camp, bathe and when he returned, supper would be ready and all would be fine._

_Gandalf stayed with him and helped here and there, but Bilbo had insisted on doing most of it himself. This was as much a courtesy to the wizard as it was a stalling tactic for Bilbo. But then Gandalf starting talking about what had happened and asking very pointed questions!_

_“That was a very brave thing you did, Bilbo,” Gandalf said, sitting on a large boulder at one side of their camp._

_“I don't -- think it was all that much, honestly,” Bilbo asked, uncomfortable._

_“You ran at that Orc like a man possessed. You saved Thorin’s life.”_

_“Oh – well, someone had to do it. I mean, I was just the closest.”_

_“Really? Are you sure you were the closest?”_

_Now that Bilbo thought about it, he couldn’t say. “Well, I – I think I was the closest.” He had just stood up, unsheathed his sword, took a deep breath and run. However, his ears were getting warm and he started to feel embarrassed. “What difference does it make? Thorin needed me.”_

_Gandalf raised an eyebrow._

_“I mean --- not me, in particular, but – but someone needed to go and I was – it was me.” Bilbo’s ears were getting hotter and his face flushed as well._

_Gandalf just looked at him expressionlessly for a moment or two – or ten – before relieving Bilbo of the silence. “As you say, someone had to do it and I still believe you were very brave to do it. Foolish perhaps, but brave nonetheless.”_

_“Foolish?” Bilbo felt a sting to his pride for a moment._

_“I mean no disrespect, nor do I mean to belittle your act,” Gandalf said, a small smile playing on his lips. “It’s just that you haven’t even trained with your blade, and yet you went headlong into a band of Orcs, killed one of them and then stood in front of Thorin to shield him. One might call that foolish.”_

_“Yes, well – I can see where one might get that impression.” Bilbo avoided Gandalf’s gaze._

_“It does make one wonder as to the things that drive someone to be so foolish,” Gandalf said quietly._

_At that, Bilbo turned slowly and stared wide-eyed at the wizard, who had a glint in his eye that made Bilbo’s skin prickle all over. Bilbo had the most extraordinary feeling that Gandalf could see through him._

_Suddenly there was laughter and movement, and Bilbo turned around to see the company heading back. He thanked Eru for the distraction. The camp was set up and everything was ready for supper to be started; now would be a very good time to take his leave and bathe. He headed to the river without a word to Gandalf._

_There was a small rocky inlet surrounded by trees. It was the perfect spot for privacy and bathing. Bilbo quickly stripped off his clothes, and walked into the water. It was cool but not cold and it seemed to ease every ache and pain. It wasn’t deep enough to be unsafe but was perfect for soaking. Bilbo was so relaxed and the water so blissful that he didn’t realize he wasn’t alone._

_He heard a small splash behind him and as he turned, Bilbo saw Thorin emerge from the water, obviously having gone completely under. He stared as Thorin stood up, his back to Bilbo. Thorin’s hair hung heavy with water halfway down his back, the water making the sable color even darker so that the silver streaks stood out bold in the black. It was the man’s back that caught Bilbo’s attention; broad and stout; although Thorin was still quite trim for a dwarf. Bilbo could see the large, horseshoe-shaped bruise on Thorin’s left side made by Azog’s Warg. Dark hair dusted the sides of his back, and his shoulders and arms were quite hairy, all in the same sable colored hair as his head.   Bilbo was struck by the sheer masculinity of the dwarf and suddenly, for the first time in his life, felt self-conscious of his very smooth chest and downy covered arms. Thorin had a thick pelt of hair on his muscular chest and stomach and Bilbo was reminded of a bear._

_As the image of Thorin’s chest played in his mind, Bilbo realized that Thorin had not just turned around and was staring at him, but had said something as well!_

_“I’m sorry,” Bilbo said, wide-eyed. “What did you say?”_

_Thorin had an amused look on his face. “I said, ‘Hello.’”_

_“Oh – hello.” Bilbo’s ears turned bright red._

_“Twice.” Thorin said with a raised eyebrow._

_“Sorry. I was – uhm – I was – thinking of something else.”_

_“Clearly.” Thorin now smiled outright._

_“I guess, I should give you your privacy – I should go.” Bilbo made to leave._

_“Please, stay,”_

_“All right.” Bilbo turned back but found it hard to look at Thorin directly. The water came up to just below Bilbo’s armpits and he was grateful it was high enough to hide the warmth he was feeling below the surface. It occurred to him that this was the first time he had been alone with Thorin, ever._

_“I was told that you not only saved me from that Orc,” Thorin said as he slowly walked over to Bilbo, “but that you stood between me and Azog. You actually raised your sword to protect me as I lay unaware.” Bilbo watched as a small smile formed on Thorin's lips and the Dwarf said, softly, "Thank you."  
_

_Hearing echoes of his conversation with Gandalf in his head, Bilbo said “I had no choice, really.”_

_“On the contrary. You could have chosen to stay put and not come to assist me at all. You could have let Azog have me and save yourself. After I’d treated you so poorly, you still choose to shield me.” Thorin’s voice had gone to almost a whisper and there was no malice or accusation in his voice. “Why, Bilbo?”_

_Bilbo wasn’t sure what to say, but he had the strangest feeling that he wasn’t being asked for just any answer but for a specific one. He wanted to say anyone would have done it or that it was only the right thing to do, but neither answer was quite true. He finally had to admit to himself the truth, but he couldn’t find the words. In fact, Bilbo could not find any words at the moment. He began to shiver, but not from the cold; there was only an arm's length between them now, and he was overwhelmed by Thorin’s presence._

_Thorin reached out and brushed the curled bangs off Bilbo’s forehead. “One could say that what you did was very foolish.” Thorin let his hand cup Bilbo’s face; his thumb gently rubbed the hobbit’s cheek._

_Bilbo leaned into Thorin’s hand; he wanted this, needed it. “I can see where one might get that impression.”_

_“But then, one would have to wonder what would drive you to be so foolish,” Thorin whispered, leaning down so that his face was only a few inches from Bilbo’s._

_“I would gladly do it all again,” Bilbo whispered._

_Thorin didn’t say a word, he just smiled and moved his hand to the nape of Bilbo’s neck and drew the Hobbit into a kiss. Bilbo closed his eyes and moaned as he wrapped his arms gently around Thorin, drawing the Dwarf in closer. Thorin responded in kind and wrapped his arms around Bilbo, resting one hand over the small of Bilbo’s back and the other between his shoulders so that there was no escape for the Hobbit; not that Bilbo had any intention of going anywhere._

_For several long minutes that seemed an eternity – Bilbo couldn’t recall later – there was nothing else in the world, there was only Thorin. As the kiss deepened, there was more than just passion or lust, there was need and want, desire and tenderness. Thorin seemed to touch his very soul and Bilbo finally knew he had found a part of himself that he hadn’t even known was missing._

_As the kiss came to an end, Thorin didn’t release Bilbo but pulled him into a warm embrace, cradling his head against his chest like one would a child.  Bilbo gladly nestled his cheek in Thorin’s chest, relishing the feel of the soft hair._

_“You know, I have worried for you since Rivendell.”  Thorin said, running his fingers through Bilbo’s curls._

_“Worried?  Why?” Bilbo said, pulling back to look Thorin in the eye._

_“I knew by then that you were more to me than just a member of the company.  I feared losing you on many levels.  But, if I can be so bold, I must admit, I believe I loved you the moment I met you.”_

_“Why didn’t you –“_

_Someone was approaching and Bilbo instinctively moved back, away from Thorin, while looking in the direction of the sound.  The footfalls were fast but didn’t sound rushed or urgent.  Bilbo looked back to Thorin, fearing he might have upset him by moving away but Thorin took two steps back, putting more distance between them while casting Bilbo a smile and a small wink.  It was just a temporary separation._

_They both turned towards the approaching footfalls and Kili came into view._

_“Oh, good,” the young dwarf said, “I had hoped you would both be here!”_

_“Why not make more noise, Kili,” Thorin said bluntly.  “I think there may be some trolls about ten leagues away that didn’t hear you coming.”_

_“Oh, I – uhm – sorry,” Kili said, looking embarrassed.  “Just, Bombur wanted me to find you and tell you that the food is almost ready.”_

_Thorin sighed, and then looked from Kili to Bilbo and back.  “Thank you.”_

_Bilbo didn’t say anything only looked at Kili and nodded.  Kili gave Bilbo a worried look but left much quicker than he had come._

_Thorin closed the distance between Bilbo and himself.  “I will wait until you are finished and they we can head back together.”_

_“Oh – I don’t want to cause you embarrassment or anything.  I can wait for a bit and then return.”_

_The dwarf king lifted Bilbo’s chin and gave him a quick kiss.  “What the others think is of little concern to me.  I do not want to leave you alone and vulnerable.”_

_Bilbo was touched by the thought.  “Give me just a few minutes.”  He quickly went under to get wet and then rubbed his hands over his body to wash what he could off.  He had lost his rucksack in the goblin’s lair so he had no soap to wash off with.  But he did his best before climbing out and dressing.  Thorin, however, was having some difficulties due to his injuries and Bilbo hurried to help him dress.  Within five minutes, they were ready._

_When they arrived everyone was eating and chatting and no one seemed to notice anything unusual.  Thorin sat with Balin and Dwalin and began to discuss the next day’s travel plans.  Bilbo grabbed a bit of roasted rabbit and sat on the opposite side of the fire from Thorin.   He began to eat but was soon joined by Kili._

_“Are you all right?”  Kili said just above a whisper.  The young dwarf prince had a very concerned look on his face._

_“Yes, I am fine,” Bilbo replied, feeling nervous.  “Why do you ask?”_

_“Well, Uncle seemed a bit … annoyed, when I came to find you.  I thought he might be giving it to you.”_

_Bilbo felt the color blossom on his cheeks but he was able to keep his voice steady.  “No.”_

_“Oh, good.  You know how hard he gets.”  Bilbo almost choked on his rabbit and Kili hit on the back a couple of times.  Everyone looked at Bilbo and Thorin actually stood up._

_“Are you all right, Master Baggins?”  Thorin asked._

_“Yes,” Bilbo said hoarsely.  “Fine.  Just went down the wrong way.”_

_“Be careful!”  Kili said.  “You shouldn’t put such a big piece of meat in your mouth all at once.”_

_Bilbo turned beet red and felt his ears burn as well.  He could have sworn he saw Thorin suppress a smirk._

_When the meal was over and everything was cleaned up.  Most of the dwarves just relaxed and chatted by the fire.  Having finished with planning, Thorin announced that he would take the early evening watch.  Many protested, Bilbo the loudest, but he insisted and went off a ways by himself._

_As the night descended, Bilbo took the opportunity to sneak off and look for Thorin.  He figured he was pressing his luck but he couldn’t resist the chance; even if it was just to chat or be near him.  Now that there seemed to be an understanding, Bilbo didn’t want to miss any time he could spend with Thorin._

_Bilbo didn’t see him anywhere and yet he knew he had gone off in the right direction.  He was about to head back when what he sought called to him._

_“Are you lost, Master Baggins?”  Thorin said softly_

_Bilbo turned around and for a moment didn’t see anything.  But his gaze went up and there was Thorin, perched in a tree, resting on a fat limb, his back to the trunk._

_“Not any more,” Bilbo said brightly._

_Thorin smiled warmly and grabbed a smaller branch above his head and then leaned down to offer a hand.  Bilbo had to almost reach on tiptoe, but once his hand was firmly in the dwarf’s, Thorin pulled him up effortlessly, placing Bilbo on the limb in front of him.  Turning, Bilbo pressed his back to Thorin’s chest and the dwarf wrapped his arms and coat about the small hobbit, both finding that the fit was perfect and comfortable._

_The cool breeze caressed Bilbo’s face but he was so warm and content.  He felt the rise and fall of Thorin’s chest and it made him feel secure._

_“I could easily fall asleep like this,” Bilbo said dreamily._

_Thorin kissed the point of one of Bilbo’s ears.  “Then sleep,” he whispered.  “I will keep you safe.”_

_“I said, I could sleep, not I want to.”  Bilbo had no intention of missing a moment of this closeness.  It felt so right and so fated that he had to wonder how in the world he had not realized his feelings for Thorin for what they were.  But he did have a question.  “Thorin.” The dwarf hummed in response and Bilbo continued.  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner about how you felt?”_

_Thorin was quiet for a few seconds before answering, “Doubt and fear.”_

_“I don’t believe you,” Bilbo said, with a frown. “You are the bravest person I have ever known!”_

_Thorin chuckled but wore a smile.  “I believe you may be biased at this point.”_

_“Maybe.”_

_“No, little one, I cannot lie to you.  It was indeed doubt and fear.  I have gone so long without happiness, without love, that when I did feel it, it was strange to me.  I felt it almost from the moment I looked into your eyes; a stirring within me.  But I pushed it away.  I grew angry with myself for these odd feelings that I suddenly had no control of and in turn, I took that anger out on you.”_

_All of Thorin’s snide remarks and snarky comments now made sense to Bilbo._

_“It was in Rivendell,” Thorin continued, “that I came to understand.  You were so easy and open with the Elves.  I felt something else, something ugly to be truthful; jealousy.  It dawned on me. I was falling in love with you and I didn’t want to share you.  I feared that you would leave the company and stay behind with them._

_“In the mountains, I feared losing you to death and my anger was at myself for putting you in that danger.  Once again, I directed my anger at the one being I shouldn’t have.  When we made it through the Goblins, I told Gandalf you had turned back; that you were long gone.  But to be honest, I was simply trying to convince myself that you were not dead because that was actually my fear.  That I had failed you.”_

_“You didn’t fail me,” Bilbo said, twisting so that he could wrap his arms around Thorin’s waist and rest his head on the dwarf’s chest.  “You could never have predicted any of that!”_

_“When I asked you why you came back,” Thorin said thickly, “you humbled me with your words.”  He cradled Bilbo’s head and rested his cheek in the hobbit’s curly hair.  “I have treated you so poorly and all because of my ignorant doubt and fear.”_

_“I wish you had told me sooner, Thorin.”_

_That brought a chuckle from the dwarf.  “Would you have believed me if I had fallen to my knees in Bag End and confessed love to you?”_

_Bilbo couldn’t deny it.  “No, but –”_

_“Would you have believed me if I had pulled you into my arms in Rivendell and pleaded with you to stay with me always?”_

_“No.”_

_“Of course not.  To use your own words, I would have doubted me too!”  Thorin laughed and it reverberated through Bilbo which made him laugh as well.  “I am lucky you didn’t slap my face when I kissed you.”_

_“Oh no,” Bilbo said, “I wanted that kiss.  I knew I felt something for you that night in Bag End too, but I was not sure either.  You touched me with your sad song and I had this urge to run and comfort you._

_“When I awoke and you were gone, my only thought was that I wanted to prove myself to you.  I wasn’t sure why, but I would be lying if I said you were not the first thing on my mind._

_“Then, you were attacked by Azog; I had no other thought than to protect you.”  Bilbo said, his mind replaying the nightmarish scene.  “I would have given my life for you if needed.”_

_Bilbo was pulled up into a deep kiss and all he could hear was the rushing in his ears.  There was so much he wanted to say to Thorin, but words would have been meaningless, would never be able to convey all that his heart ached to say._

_“Okay you two,” came a deep rumble from below, “break it up.”_

_Bilbo moved back so fast that Thorin had to steady himself quickly or they both would have gone down.  As soon as he knew they were both safe, Thorin shot Dwalin a dark look that only made the battle-scarred dwarf laugh._

_“You should announce yourself before sneaking up on people!”  Thorin spit out._

_“I doubt it would have mattered,” Dwalin drawled.  “A Troll could have knocked this tree down before either of you would have noticed.”_

_Thorin lowered Bilbo to the ground and then followed.  Bilbo busied himself straightening his clothes to avoid having Dwalin see his blushing face.  But when he finally looked up, both dwarfs were just staring at each other and Bilbo couldn’t help but look back and forth between the two of them like watching a game of toss the pumpkin._

_Finally, Dwalin made to break the silence.  “So, how long --.” Dwalin started._

_“Don’t start.”  Thorin growled, narrowing his gaze._

_“What?!”  Dwalin asked, smirking._

_“Just don’t.  I’m warning you!”  Thorin held his unblinking stare._

_“All right.”  Dwalin chuckled but put his hands up.  “I am just here to take over guard duty.”_

_Bilbo decided it was time to make an exit.  “I am going to – to head back.”  He went to turn but Thorin’s voice stopped him._

_“Wait.  I will go with you.”  Thorin straightened his coat as Dwalin swung himself up onto the tree limb they had just vacated.  “You shouldn’t be wandering alone in the dark.”  Throin placed a hand in the middle of the hobbit’s back to steer him along gently._

_“Yeah,” Dwalin’s voice drifted after them, “you might meet a grumpy dwarf who wants his way with you!”  Dwalin roared with laughter as Thorin just closed his eyes and made a low guttural growl._

_When they got back to camp, most of the company was asleep with only Gandalf, Balin and Ori being awake.  They were talking to each other and only gave Thorin and Bilbo a passing acknowledgement before turning back to each other.  This surprised Bilbo, he had expected – well, he wasn’t sure what he expected really; shocked surprise, indignant looks, maybe a smirk or a dung-eating grin from Gandalf.  He just laughed to himself in the end.  Clearly if they thought anything odd, they didn’t care and if they cared, they didn’t think it odd._

_They chose a spot further away from the fire and settled down next to each other.  Thorin threw his traveling cloak over them both and wrapped a lazy arm over Bilbo’s waist.  It was gentle and welcoming and the hobbit had beautiful dreams of sunshine and fields and lying in the tall grass, wrapped in the arms of a king._

 

 -----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            It was just past noon when Bilbo reached Hobbiton.  The tiny burgh hummed with activity of a normal day; gardens tended, cows and goats milked, a small crowd gathered outside the Green Dragon talking of the latest news.  Bilbo smiled and nodded at those he passed.  A few souls ventured good morning to him but most just acknowledged his non-verbal salutations with one of their own and went about their business.  Still viewed as suspicious but that was fine for Bilbo.  _At least the bloody whispering had stopped!_

            As he made his way up the hill to Bag End, he saw smoke rising from his chimney.  He felt a moment of panic that he had left a fire burning, or Eru forbid, the smial was on fire!  But that feeling was almost immediately squashed; if he had left the fire burning, the place would already be ash – he had been gone for four days.  And if by chance the fire was just smoldering, smelling up the entire house with smoke, well there wasn’t much he could do about it now but clean up the mess.  Frankly, he realized that he just didn’t care one way or the other. 

            But as he made it to the door, he also saw that some of the windows were open and that the flowerpot he used to hide the spare key had been turned around the other way; someone was in his house!  _That bitch, Lobelia!  If I catch her with any more spoons in her pocket or one more of my mother’s books, I will use Sting to skin her alive!_   He unsheathed the Eleven sword and prepared himself.

Bilbo came through the door almost at a run.  “Who is here?!”  He shouted out, holding Sting out, ready to strike.  “Show yourself!”

            There was a light patter of feet and the one person he didn’t expect came into view at the end of the hallway; his cousin, Drogo.

            “Hello, cousin!”  Drogo said, throwing Bilbo a toothy smile.

            “What in Middle-Earth are you doing here?”  Bilbo lowered Sting and just stared.  He couldn’t have been more surprised if the mayor and sheriff had popped out of the pantry.

            “Well, we came to see you,” Drogo answered, giving Bilbo a hug just as his wife Primula came out of the kitchen and hugged Bilbo as well.

            “We hoped you would be back soon,”  Primula said, drying her hands on a dish cloth.  “I have just finished making a late lunch, so you are just in time.”

            Bilbo was shocked but glad to see them.  Even with an eighteen-year difference, Drogo was still Bilbo’s favorite cousin.  But that still didn’t explain why they had come all the way from Buckland, basically broke into his house – not that he cared – and made lunch all in the hopes he would be home.

            “I can’t believe you both are here!”  Bilbo was over his surprise and went up to Drogo for a proper hug and greeting.  “For what am I owed this occasion?”

            His cousin just looked at him, confused.  “What’s the occasion?  It’s your birthday, Bilbo!  Please don’t tell me all that walking has made you forget?!”

            _Birthday?  Oh yes, I guess it is_.  “Of course not!  Don’t be silly.”  Bilbo had forgotten about it, but it certainly wasn’t the walking that had made him forgot.  Thorin was still on his mind from the night before and when he thought of his true love, nothing else was worth remembering really, not even himself.

            Birthdays.  Every good Hobbit would tell you that celebrating a birthday was the number one day in a Hobbit’s year.  Even more than Winter’s Day or the Summer Solstice.  It was a time to celebrate being alive and sharing that sprit with your family, friends and neighbors.  When a baby was born, the parents would give out gifts as a way to celebrate their good fortune and to bring luck to the new infant.   This tradition would then continue through each birthday.  Of course, children only gave gifts to other children and even then, usually only in their same age group.  Once a Hobbit reached their coming of age, thirty-three, then gifts were given to any and everyone that came to their party.  Again, this was mostly family, friends and a few close neighbors.  But well off Hobbits like the Bagginses, Brandybucks, and Tooks, they had parties usually for their entire village and then invited guests from other towns.  Huge parties were thrown with near never-ending food and drinks, cakes and sweets, and of course presents.

            Bilbo, being a Baggins of course, was supposed to have huge birthday parties and they should have been the talk of the shire, let alone just Hobbiton.  But since his return he had not had any, not one.  He didn’t see the need in celebrating.  _Exactly what should I be celebrating?_ he thought many times to himself.  _A lonely, empty Hobbit Smial with too much room that should have been filled with life and love.  Celebrate the loss of my one true love?_

            Now that he thought of it, he couldn’t remember the last time he celebrated a birthday.  _Oh yes, on the road to Erebor; my fifthly-first birthday.  Gandalf had let it slip to the company and while I protested, they all gave me something.  Thorin had given me a small but beautiful fur pelt to keep me warm.  I loved it so much – I could smell him on it.  But I lost it during the journey.  Just like him._

His heart pulled at him and he had to quickly compose himself to return their smiles.  “Well, I am glad to see you both.”  He placed his walking stick and rucksack near the door and hung Sting back above the fireplace.

            Lunch was served and Primula had outdone herself with all of Bilbo’s known favorites.  Baked river trout with a lemon and sage cream sauce, tomato pie with goat cheese and basil, roasted potato wedges with lemon and rosemary, fresh salad with onions and warm bacon, and to finish it all off, baked apples with cinnamon, walnuts and dried cranberries.  Drogo had brought a wonderful bottle of red spring wine that was slightly chilled, and that helped improve Bilbo’s mood as well.

            Drogo and Primula shared the latest news with Bilbo.  Apparently, Lobelia was _still_ trying to convince people that Bilbo was an imposter or changeling; even going so far as to petition the Mayor of the Shire to declare it publicly.   No one took her seriously and it was finally one of Bilbo’s close neighbors who had had enough and dressed Lobelia down in spectacular fashion right in the middle of the Saturday market! 

            Bilbo’s spirit was slowly lifting but it was still not enough.   Part of him was still taken by the last four days’ journey into the wild and he was just now able to shake off the lingering melancholy that came from thinking of Erebor and Thorin.  He knew that he had to stop, at least while his cousins were here.  It was too much for him to try and hide it and he could swear that now and then he caught them looking at him with concerned or questioning eyes.   But neither said anything and as lunch was ending and the plates cleared, Biblo thought that he would have smooth sailing from that point on.  Until Drogo brought up the letter.

            “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Drogo said, looking over his shoulder while washing dishes with his wife, “I got your mail for you when we arrived.  It’s on your desk.  There seems to be a letter of some importance.”

            Bilbo got up quickly and went to the front room.  There in a small pile was his daily mail and among the ignorable correspondence was a large letter in a parchment envelope.  The handwriting was strong but beautiful and he knew recognized it in an instant; it was from Dis.  He ripped it open and his heart sank.

 

 

_Dearest Bilbo,_

_I know it’s been a while since I have written last and for that I am truly sorry.  Please know that this is not a mark of disinterest but more of a fear of writing.  I have much to tell and not all of it is pleasant._

_As you know, I have done my level best to keep our inglorious, undeserving King from totally ruining my last brother’s memory or his plans for Erebor.  Believe me I have tried._

_But I must now confess that I have failed._

_Dain, that pompous toad, has done his best to have anything to do with Thorin removed from Erebor.  The yearly celebration for reclaiming Erebor is no longer on the anniversary of the Battle but has been moved to the day of Dain’s coronation, and has been renamed Dain’s Day!  It started out slowly; each year the feast was moved back a week for some meaningless made up excuse by Dain.  Food delivery, some crisis of state (which was trumped up for sure), convenience for arriving guests or what have you!  And of course, Thorin’s name is never mentioned; they just have a minute of silence for “those who gave their lives.”  It makes me sick!  But I of course am “just a female” and since there is no one else of my family left, I am alone in my opinions, which amounts to nothing in the eyes of the council._

_Speaking of the council, Balin has been removed – if you can believe it!  I am sure you already knew that Dain had replaced him as King’s advisor.  Dain used the excuse that Balin had suffered much and that it was time for him to rest – Warg dung if I ever heard it.  So Balin was moved down to just councilman.  Then, just six months ago, Dain decided that there were too many on the council and basically retired those with ties to Thorin or our father and brought in only his people.  Balin was humiliated!_

_But even more insulting was Dwalin.  Once again, Dain made excuse after excuse and had Dwalin removed as Captain of the Royal Guards, and replaced him with one of his own cronies.  The excuses?  Dwalin had earned his retirement and it was time for younger blood!  I thought Dwalin would spit granite!   Of course, he couldn’t just go back to the regulars so now, like Balin, he has retired._

_Even poor Bombur has not been immune to the purge.  Dain stated that while Bombur was, “technically” a fine cook, Dain felt that there were far too many “foreign” dishes being served and his stomach was just not used to anything but “basic dwarrow food.”  In other words, Bombur had been using the many recipes that you gave him to bring much needed variety into the Erebor kitchens and Dain didn’t want anything that reminded anyone of you and, by default, Thorin._

_So far, the only one to be safe is Ori.  Dain could not care less about the library and archives and has left Ori in peace.  Of course, he is extremely unhappy at how Dwalin has been treated and had threatened to quit on principle, but Dwalin told him to stay where he was.  I have to admit, I am pleased to see that big blockhead put Ori’s happiness before his own._

_The rest of the company is doing well for the most part.  Bofur and Bifur have been busy with toy making and the Dale trade has really picked up now that fields and area are rebounding.  Bombur did find work with Dori – Dori opened that tea shop and when Bombur was let go, the two of them decided that Bombur would make all the pastries and goodies and it has been a great success.  Nori of course is having to be extra careful.  Dwalin was never one to let him get away with anything, but still, it was better when he had friends in the Royal circle.  Gloin and Oin are doing fine.  Luckily neither of them have been removed, but they have also been passed over for promotions.  Gloin’s son Gimli seems to be doing well in the guards – although he would love to be a Royal Guard.  However, with Dain in charge, he knows that will never happen._

_As for me, Dain would love to get rid of me and away from him and the council at all costs.  However, since I am still the last living direct descendant from Thror, no one is willing to back him much on that and I think he knows that the populace would not see that as anything other than what it is.  But as I have said, my influence is practically non-existent._

_Oh, Bilbo, how we all wish you had stayed or, better yet, we had gone with you!  Nothing has turned out as Thorin had hoped._

_Again, I am sorry to write such a letter to you, but I don’t feel hiding the truth would be of any use.  If there is anyone who needs to know, it’s you.  I cannot but wonder what the kingdom would be if Thorin had lived to rule, with you at his side._

_Please write soon Bilbo.  We miss you._

_Love always, Dis_

            Bilbo stood silently staring at the letter.  He let it sink in and although he could feel the old anger towards Dain rise up in him, he could not deny that he was not surprised.  He had always known that pathetic excuse of a king would rid himself of anyone who had or would have supported Thorin.  Dain would not stop until all that once had or should have belonged to Thorin was his.  And now he had the proof in his hands that all Thorin was, all he fought and died for, was crumbling to dust.

            Looking back at the letter, he felt a tiny painful pull in him; _I cannot but wonder what the kingdom would be if Thorin had lived to rule._   Wonder indeed; he could almost picture it.  Thorin looking handsome and kingly in his Durin Blue robes and a golden crown on his head, sitting on the Throne of Erebor and the Arkenstone gleaming above him; Bilbo was awed just at the mental image.  But instantly, it turned cold and he had to stop himself; he would cry if he continued.

            “Is everything all right?”  Drogo said, coming up to Bilbo and placing a hand on his shoulder.   Bilbo came back to his senses but didn’t turn around for fear his cousin would see the pain in his eyes.

            “Oh, yes.”  Bilbo took a deep breath and folded the letter back up, placing it back on the desk.  “Just a letter from a friend in Erebor with the latest news and gossip.”   Now he turned around and gave Drogo a mirthy smile he did not feel, but Drogo’s expression spoke of more concern.

            “I have known you my entire life.”  Drogo said, gently.  “I know when you are hiding something.  And you have been hiding for five years now.”

            “Oh, don’t be silly!”  Bilbo said, trying again to look casual.  Primula came out of the kitchen and stood next to Drogo.   She too was not taken in by Bilbo’s easy but obviously forced smile.

            “Bilbo, we want to help you,” Primula said, with almost a pleading in her voice.

            “I have no idea what you two are going on about.”  But Bilbo would not meet their eyes and he quickly picked up the letter and put it in his pocket for fear that one or the other of his cousins would take to reading it.  The jest was not lost on the others.

            “No one really knows what happened on your journey,” Drogo said.  “And you came back a different Hobbit.”

            “Almost a broken one,” Primula added.

            “In the last five years,” Drogo continued, “you have not had one birthday party and you haven’t come to any of the family’s holiday parties.  So don’t tell us there is nothing wrong.”

            “You two should write books,” Bilbo said, as casually as possible, “your imaginations are just that wild.  I have just not placed an importance on birthday parties –”

            “Which you used to do before going away,” Primula said quickly.

            “And holidays are not that big of a deal, besides I hate to travel –”

            “So sayeth the man who traveled to Erebor and back,” Drogo said dryly.

            “AND, you all know my adventures,”  Bilbo finished with small shrug.  He was determined to be as casual as possible but he still wouldn’t look either cousin in the eye.

            “No we don’t,” Primula said, her expression getting sharper.  “All we, or anyone, have heard are the tales and stories you tell the children.  Told with the same tone and air as someone telling bedtime stories.”

            “There really were trolls and Elves and a dragon –” But Bilbo was cut off.

            “Oh of the basic facts we have no doubt!”  Drogo said, pointing to Sting and Thorin’s map mounted above the fireplace.  “Don’t think the news of Dale’s and Erebor’s restorations hasn’t reached all the way to the Shire or that Smaug’s slaying is not known as well.  And believe me when I say that when it comes to hearing that a Hobbit was involved in the entire venture, there is little doubt in most sensible minds who that is referring to!

            “But what all those stories don’t tell us is what happened to _you_!”  Drogo was beyond patience.  He had watched his dear cousin the last five years and had hoped against all hope that Bilbo would finally come to his senses and, at the very least, return to his old charming self.  But Drogo was tired of waiting and in his and his wife’s eyes, Bilbo was not getting better but was withdrawing and getting worse.  Drogo refused to stand by and do nothing, even if that meant a knock-down-drag-out with Bilbo.

            Bilbo was wavering.  Part of him cried out to be released; he wanted to open his soul and pour it out like water on the ground.  He was tired of holding it in and hiding.  He wanted to shout to the world that Thorin had lived, that he had been loved and adored and still was.  But as Bilbo fingered the golden ring in his pocket, another part of him snaked its way up to his consciousness and he believed, _no he knew_ that what he had was his and it was precious.  He would not share it with anyone!  No matter what his nosy, meddling, troublesome cousin said – Thorin was his and his alone!

            “Do not presume to know what is in my heart!”  Bilbo growled like a wild thing, turning on Drogo.  “You have no idea what I am feeling and what I have been though!  You would never understand!  Go home with your wife and live in your isolated, small world!”  He turned his back on his cousins and crossed his arms – he was done.

            Drogo was hurt.  Never in their wildest dreams would he have thought it would come to this.  The Hobbit before him was no one he knew; the Bilbo he had loved and waited for was truly gone.

            “Fine!”  Drogo shouted, turning away and grabbing his coat and walking stick.  “You want to be alone and miserable, then you can stay that way for all I bloody care!”  He opened the door and looked at his wife.  “Come, Primula.  We are leaving!”  Without another word or look to Bilbo, he walked out the door.

            Primula could only stand there for a few long seconds just blinking.  She had no idea how the day had come to this.  Finally she moved to the front door, put on her cloak and picked up her satchel.   But she just wouldn’t leave without one last try.

            She walked up and placed a gentle hand on Bilbo’s shoulder to turn him around.  He did, reluctantly, but only gave her a hard stare.  “Bilbo,” Primula said, “I am sorry if we offended you.  Please know that wasn’t our intention.”  Bilbo did not respond or offer any sign that he accepted her apology.  “Someday you may want to tell your story.  And I hope this may help you.”  Primula removed a rectangular gift from her satchel and put it in Bilbo’s hands.   Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked through the front door, closing gently behind her.

            As silence filled the smial, Bilbo felt the fire of his anger go out and leave him cold.  But he refused to run after them – partly embarrassed and partly because he couldn’t explain it.  He was shocked at his own behavior and had no idea where it had come from.  However, it was late now and he would deal with it later.

            Looking down, he read the little card on the gift, _Happy Birthday, Bilbo.  Much love, Drogo and Primula_.  Bile rose up in his throat as the guilt washed over him like ice water.   Ripping open the gift, he was astounded.   It was a large leather bound journal with beautiful parchment sheets.  The cover was reddish leather, soft as lamb skin and was embossed with vines on either side.  At the bottom were his initials in gold and an eight-pointed star at the top center.

            Bilbo was touched and he knew exactly what it was intended for – as Primula said, someday he might want to tell his story, even if it was just written down.  But he couldn’t, not now, not anytime in near future that he could think of.   Someday he might, but today was not that day. 

            In fact, it was time he locked it all away – he was tired of being asked about it all.  He opened his trunk that held items from his adventure and placed the red book in it and then went to the front room and took down Sting and Thorin’s framed map, took them back to the trunk and placed them in as well.  He locked the trunk and hid the key. Now there was nothing for anyone to ask about.  He decided that the mithril shirt that Thorin had gifted him would go to the mathom museum in Michel Delving.

            Finally, he took the painted pictures of his father and mother out of his mother’s old study and hung them over the fireplace in the front room.   Now it looked perfectly fine and acceptable and the questions and prying would stop!  _Thank Eru for that_ , he thought.   _Yes no more questions.  It’s like it never happened._  

            It was then that he lay down on the floor in the middle of the room and curled up and cried until there was nothing left within him.

 

 

 


	5. Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Primula knows more than she says; Thorin knows less than he should

* * *

_**11 / 2968** _

            The party was going beautifully.  The food was perfect--from the smoked trout and capers and the cucumber wedges for starters, to the rare roast beef with thin gravy served with new potatoes and leeks, to the pumpkin pie, apple bread, and raspberry mousse for desert, it was all perfectly prepared and presented.  The house was decorated with candles and pinecones.  But then, the Brandybucks never did do anything halfway.

            Most people of Middle-Earth knew that Hobbits needed little excuse for a party.  Well, those that knew Hobbits anyway.  And of the parties they threw, those that marked the stages of life were the most special; courtship parties, wedding parties, birthday parties – particularly the milestone parties – twenty-fifth (first year of the tweens), thirty-third (the coming of age), eleventy-one (let’s face it, it’s all ones), and of course the wake for the dead (it would be rude to bury someone alive). 

            But of those, there is none as special as the Presentation Party.  While Hobbits have little problem, normally, producing children, every single babe is considered precious.  So traditionally, around the second month anniversary of birth, there is a large party where the family “presents” the baby for the whole community to see.  This is one of the few times that gifts are given to the host or in this case the center of attention (the other times being first birthday and wedding). 

            Drogo and Primula Baggins were no exception to this tradition.

            Primula and little Frodo, of course, were the center of attention.  Many thought that she and Drogo wouldn’t have children and that they would live the carefree life forever.  But then, very few outside the family knew that they were actually having a difficult time conceiving.  Such a thing was unheard of in The Shire – what with families of four to eight children being the norm.  But finally, Yavanna had blessed them with the one thing they wanted so much.

            Baby Frodo was adorable and most welcomed.  The Brandybucks and the Bagginses were thrilled with him and he had Drogo’s dark hair and Primula’s huge blue eyes and soft creamy skin.  He rarely cried and already had a giggly, melodious laugh.   It had been a good few years since a baby as beautiful and sweet had blessed either side of the family and no one was going to be told not to spoil him.  Well, they could be told – no one was going to listen.

            Frodo was popular with the Hobbitlings as well.  Every last one of the children present wanted to touch and play and giggle and laugh and tickle the newest member of the family and, to be honest, Frodo appeared to have no problem with the little fingers and hands thrust at him; he reached and grabbed onto any he could get his fingers around.  Of course, anything that he could get hold of usually ended up in his mouth, but that was to be expected. 

            The only one more popular with the children was Uncle Bilbo and he had no problem holding court with the young ones.  In a far back room reserved as the children’s playroom, Bilbo held the rapt attention of the Hobbitlings as he recounted his stories of Wizards, dragons and Elves; magic swords and trolls made appearances as did gold and brave Dwarfs.

            “And they all lived happily ever after,” Bilbo finished with a smile and the children cheered and thanked him for telling them the tale.  “Why don’t you all go and get some food before it’s all gone?” 

            As the children filed out, Bilbo looked up and saw Primula leaning against the door frame, her arms crossed, sans Frodo.  She gave Bilbo a sweet smile of her own. “They all love you to pieces.  I hope you know that.” 

            “Oh, it’s just the story they love.”  Bilbo looked away with a blush on his cheeks.

            Primula sat next to him and hooked her arm through her cousin’s.  “Don’t be daft.  Who wouldn’t love you?”

            Bilbo’s brow contracted but almost instantly smoothed out.  It would have gone unnoticed by anyone else.  Anyone other than Primula Brandybuck-Baggins. 

            She had heard his stories over and over again through the last twenty-seven years.  She knew the threads of the tale Bilbo wove had more truth in them than most believed and she was more than aware that some threads were missing – like a well-loved sweater that had become threadbare through time. 

            In the beginning, she had merely listened to the tales.  But it didn’t take long for her to realize that while some things stayed the same, others dropped away.  Bilbo’s side of the story completely vanished almost from the start – he told the adventure as if he was an observer, not a participant.  Gandalf came and went in the telling.  The Elves were ever present, but their importance diminished except for Mirkwood and even then, it was only the dungeons and the escape that seemed important.  The Dragon was always there of course, but he too became a mere ingredient to the recipe.  The dwarves on the other hand became more and more family-like in the narrative – warm and approachable. 

            But it was the Dwarf king who really shined in the telling.  At first he was only their leader – steady and commanding, pushing the company forward on their quest.  He slowly became braver, more heroic, and drove the story towards its end.   Over time Bilbo began to add in more and more details regarding the king – in fact, Bilbo had given so many little details over the years that Primula swore she could have picked him out of a crowd even though she had never laid eyes on him.   She also noticed how Bilbo’s eyes would turn glassy when he talked of the king and his voice sounded far away as if on the verge of losing himself.   Strangely, at the end of the tale, when the dragon was no more, and the mountain was reclaimed – the Dwarf king was not mentioned and the story rushed to its end with everyone “living happily ever after.”

            The conclusion was thus to Primula--Bilbo removed himself from the story because it was too painful.  The Elves and Gandalf were important but it wasn’t about them in the end and while the dragon was the goal, he wasn’t the heart of the story--the Dwarfs were.  They were special and precious to Bilbo.  And it was the Dwarf king who touched Bilbo the most; held in such regard that Bilbo placed him above all the rest.  

            But it was the king’s vanishing that was the telling clue.  Bilbo had placed the king on a pedestal because he deeply loved him, but he vanished because Bilbo lost him; lost him in such a painful way that Bilbo could not even mention him at the end – even by title.  This pain was so deep that while Primula could name each Dwarf in the company by this time, never once in twenty-seven years, had the name of the Dwarf king passed Bilbo’s lips in any telling of his adventure.

            There was little doubt in Primula’s mind that “happily” was not how Bilbo had been living at all. 

            And in all that time, Primula had to be content with not knowing the last bits of information regarding the Dwarf king.  At least, not until six months ago.  And it was all due to little Frodo. 

            Knowing that she was pregnant and would soon be in confinement, Drogo had suggested one last weekend trip to Bree, one last walk-about before childbirth and parenthood.  They arrived in the early afternoon and had planned to stay overnight at the Prancing Pony before returning home.  Drogo had gone to secure their rooms and take their packs upstairs while Primula had found a table so they could eat. 

            As fate would have it, a traveling Dwarf was sitting at one of the tables, alone.

            Primula knew this was her one chance, if she could just get the Dwarf to talk to her.  Would he have the answers to her questions?  Would he speak to her about The Lonely Mountain?  Would he speak to her at all?  She was well aware from Bilbo’s stories that Dwarfs were very secretive and hoarded information as much as their gold and gems. 

            She needed an in.  But how?  As she thought, her hands rested on her growing belly and an idea came to her.  She knew babies were precious to Dwarfs as they were precious among Hobbits.  Throwing caution to the wind, she made her move.

            She casually walked towards the table and just as she got close, she faked a kick from the baby.  She grabbed the table with one hand and her belly with the other, while making a little show of breathing out.  That got the exact response from the Dwarf she needed.

            “Are you all right, lassie?”  The Dwarf said, standing up and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder to steady her.

            “Oh, yes.  Just a little kick,” Primula replied brightly.  “I just need to sit for a minute.”  She promptly plopped herself down on the bench opposite from the Dwarf’s.  “I am sorry to interrupt your meal.  Please continue.”  She slowly rubbed her hands in small circles over her growing middle, noticing the way the Dwarf stared.

            The Dwarf looked at her belly with awe but retook his seat.  “Are you sure you don’t need me to fetch someone for you?”

            “That is so kind of you, but my husband will be along soon.” 

            “‘tis your first?”  The Dwarf asked.

            “Yes!  We are so very excited.”

            “Aye, you should be right proud, lassie.”

            “Do you have family, Master Dwarf?” 

            “Just my Ma, Da, and little sister, but none to call my own as yet.”

            “Oh, I see.  Do they live nearby, in the Blue Mountains?”

            “Used to, but we moved back to Erebor once the mountain was reclaimed.”

            “Erebor?  Really?”  This was better than she had hoped!  Primula tried to keep her smile casual and her excitement contained.  “I hear it’s a wondrous place.”

            “Aye, ‘tis!  The greatest kingdom in all of Middle-earth.”

            “I would love to see it someday.” 

            “‘Tis a sight to behold.”

            This was it, now was her chance.  “I have always heard stories that the Dwarfs are so secretive.  Would your king allow others to visit?”  By the Gods, she hoped that didn’t sound rude.  But the Dwarf didn’t seem to take it so. 

            “True, many of our ways are secret, but we have a fair trade with the Men in Dale, and we do have visitors come to Erebor.  Our king is a welcoming one.”

            “Is that the same king that reclaimed the mountain?”

            At this, the Dwarf’s face grew so still and somber that Primula was almost pained for asking.  “No, lassie.  That would be Thorin Oakenshield.  Sadly, he gave up his life for his people in the battle for the mountain.”

            Just as she’d thought.  “I am sorry to hear that.  I am sure he would have been a great king.”

            “Aye.  He would’ve at that.  But –,” The Dwarf looked down to his food and gave a shake of his head.  Prim could see sadness on his face. 

            “Is something wrong, Master Dwarf?”

            The Dwarf looked from side to side as if fearful of eavesdroppers, and then leaned towards Primula and spoke just above a whisper.  “Just that, ‘tis all the sadder because rumor has it King Thorin had found his One on his quest to Erebor.”

            “His One?”

            “Aye.  His One.  His One true love.  His soulmate.  You see, Dwarfs love only once in their lives and none can compare to their One.  ‘tis all the sadder in that King Thorin didn’t find his One until just before the reclaiming of the Lonely Mountain and then didn’t live to see his heart fulfilled.”

            Primula’s eyes were wide at this point and it was all she could do not gasp from the tightness in her chest.  “That is sad.”  Oh poor, Bilbo.  “Does anyone know who his One was?”  She knew really, but she wanted confirmation.

            “Nay.  None from his company would ever say.”  But the Dwarf looked at Primula and narrowed his view before continuing.  “You’re a Hobbit, no?”  He leaned sideways to look under the table and Primula was sure he was checking her feet.

            “Yes.  Yes, I am.”

            “Well, then,” said the Dwarf, “have you heard of a Bilbo Baggins?”

             Primula kept a straight face.  “The name does sound familiar.  Why do you ask?”

            “He is held in high regard in both Erebor and Dale, and was part of the company of Thorin Oakenshield!  If I were you, I would seek him out.  He would know more about King Thorin and the Quest for Erebor.”

            Primula was sure he did.  “Thank you.  I will take that under advisement.”  At that moment, she caught the sight of Drogo coming into the dining area and she stood to go.  “Thank you for your time, Master Dwarf.”

            “’twas a pleasure, lass,” the Dwarf said, standing up.  He motioned to Primula’s swelling belly.  “And may I say, congratulations to you.  May you have a fine wee lady, like yourself.”  He bowed as Primula blushed.

            “Thank you, and may you have a safe journey home, Master –”

            “Gimli, son of Gloin.  At your service.”

            “Good-bye, Master Gimli.”  Primula hurried over to Drogo.

            “Who was that Dwarf you were speaking with?”  Drogo looked back over to the Dwarf who had resumed eating his meal.

            “Oh, just a pleasant soul I was chatting with.”

            She never told her husband.  In all the years they had been married, Primula had never kept a secret from her beloved.  They shared everything and anything.  But Bilbo’s secret?  No.  That wasn’t hers to share.

            And as she sat now with her arm linked with her much-loved and sweet cousin, she was tempted to tell him, _I know of Thorin.  I know of your love for him_.  But she did not.  She would keep his secret close to her heart, like her son, and she would wait for the time when Bilbo was ready to name it for what it was.

            She gave Bilbo a swift kiss on the cheek as she went to find her husband and child  as a few children came in and begged Uncle Bilbo to, once again, tell all about his adventures.

            As she left the room, Bilbo’s voice followed.  “Once upon a time, there was a brave and mighty Dwarf king.”

 

   -----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----        

 

_**12 / 2968** _

            Bilbo sat in his father’s old chair and stared at the wall in front of him.  He had tried to read but it became pointless as he realized he was not retaining anything on the page.  He debated making tea but he had already drunk four cups and figured with any more he would be awake until next week. 

            He glanced at the mantel clock – eight-fourteen. 

            Rising, he went to the desk and rechecked his calculations against the almanac.  Still correct. 

            He glanced at the clock again – eight-seventeen.  He wanted to scream.

            He grabbed another book and tried to read that, but once again it failed to do the trick.  It was placed on top of the three books he already had at the side of his chair.  

            Bilbo got up and started pacing a bit.  He just needed to be calm.  Nothing to worry about.  No sir, no worries here.  Just breathe, Baggins.  Just breathe. 

            Wasn’t helping.

            He looked down at his feet.  Okay, nicely combed.  He checked himself in the hall mirror.  Great, everything in place, looks good.  He looked down at his robe and made sure there was no lint or dust anywhere.  

            He went around and put out most of the candles, then trotted back to the mantel clock – eight-twenty.  He went back to breathing.

            Stepping outside, Bilbo took some deep breaths of the cold winter air.  It was refreshing and he felt a little calmer.  As a child, he had never liked the winter, always preferring the sunshine of spring, or the warmth of summer, not to mention the crispness of autumn.  Winter, on the other hand?  Too cold, too damp and the only thing he would think about was how long until the spring.  Now, winter was his favorite time.  Because it meant he would see –

            Oh bugger!  What time is it?

            Bilbo slammed the door behind him as he rushed inside.  He almost skidded to a halt in front of the mantel clock as it struck eight-twenty-three.

            Thank Yavanna!

            Bilbo looked at the parlour window and across the darkened landscape of Hobbiton just as the full moon rose above the faraway horizon. Bilbo rushed down the west hall to his bedroom and drew the curtains closed, only the small fire in the fireplace lighting the room.

            Bilbo stood stock still in the middle of his bedroom and closed his eyes.  There was just the hint of a tingle that moved from his fingers up his arms.  The sensation of a breeze, although there wasn’t one, moved across his face and through his hair.  Gentle kisses ghosted along his throat and he allowed his head to fall back, giving greater access to his skin.  Quickly, he was enveloped in feeling and felt himself wrapped in a cool embrace.

            _“Bilbo, my love … look at me”_

            Bilbo opened his eyes and gazed upon his ghostly lover.  His eyes bore into Bilbo and, not for the first time, Bilbo wished he could fall into them and stay there.  Time had not diminished the love he had for Thorin, nor had the Dwarf king’s love for his burglar faded. 

            Thorin was more than just mist now.  Over the years he had begun to hold a more solid state without Bilbo using the ring.  Thorin had no explanation for the changes and stated that he simply was tied to Bilbo and that maybe it was the connection which had strengthened him over time.  Frankly, neither really cared about the reason.

            As Thorin’s spirit ghosted kisses up and down Bilbo’s throat, all the while working his hands down and around Bilbo’s hips to cup his ass, Bilbo relaxed more and more into his lover’s embrace.  He was all sensation and desire.  His body responded and he finally reached into the robe’s pocket, pulled out his ring and let the robe fall to the floor as he slipped the ring on his finger.

            There was a rush like the wind in his ear, and the world receded to a dull and colorless form as Thorin’s ghost suddenly became firm and near solid.

            “Akhùthuzh âzyungel,” Thorin growled into Bilbo’s neck and began to nip and bite the tender flesh. 

            Bilbo’s skin broke out in gooseflesh and he was not even aware that he was being led to the bed and slowly laid upon it until he realized Thorin was over him.  Bilbo surrendered completely.  Pinning Bilbo to the bed, wrists held tight above the Hobbit’s head, Thorin moved down Bilbo’s chest and suckled the small nipples that were waiting for attention.  This rewarded Thorin with moans from his Hobbit and only spurred the Dwarf further.  Thorin began to roll his tongue around and over the pink tips until they were erect and sensitive and then used his teeth to nip at the ends.  First one and then the other, and Thorin continued to alternate from side to side and between kissing and biting until Bilbo’s cock was hard and leaking. 

            But Thorin was not nearly finished.

            Slowing, Thorin released Bilbo’s wrists and moved lower until he was pressing hard on Bilbo’s upper arms, holding them down.  This allowed him to lick and bite his way across and over Bilbo’s stomach and the Hobbit would gasp and squirm beneath Thorin’s administrations.   This only made Thorin growl and want to devour more of his beautiful and delectable Hobbit.           

            Finally, Thorin moved his hands to Bilbo’s nipples and there let his fingers roam.  He squeezed and pinched and flicked them until they were raw and hard, all the while mouthing around Bilbo’s cock and sack.  His ghostly form moved over Bilbo’s body like cool silk drawn over his skin.  All Bilbo could do was gasp and grasp at the sheets to hold himself back as his lover’s spirit expressed himself with a feral hunger that left him blind from the sensation.

            As Thorin finished ghosting kisses over Bilbo’s tender thighs, he moved slowly to Bilbo’s sack and began to give it the attention that would eventually send Bilbo closer to the edge.  Rolling them like eggs between his fingers and thumbs, just the slightest pressure would elicit moans and gasps depending on a tug or pull. 

            Thorin worked his way up to Bilbo’s cock and then engulfed it.

            “Oh my Gods!”  Bilbo screamed, arching his back but still trapped by Thorin’s hands which were now holding down his thighs.

            This rewarded Bilbo with a snarl from the king and only served to spur him onward.  As much as Thorin appeared to building Bilbo to a climax, suddenly all sensation ceased, except for the feeling of Thorin’s hands on his hips and Bilbo was quickly turned over onto his stomach.  

            Bilbo felt his cheeks spread and the kisses and nips resumed form the tender area under his sack and upward to the crevasse of his cheeks.  Thorin gave attention to his entrance and that alone made Bilbo squirm.  Bilbo hips were pulled back and then Thorin entered him as quick and easy as if Bilbo were a well-made glove for Thorin’s cock.

            The feeling of Thorin in him grew and expanded until it was all Bilbo could feel.  At the same time, his hips were pulled up so that Bilbo’s hard cock and sack were free and as Thorin began to move in and out, he also reached around and under Bilbo to stroke him to completion.

            “Oh, yes!  Please, Thorin!”

            The king growled and only continued his lovemaking.

            “Please!  I’m so close!  Don’t stop!”

            _“I want to hear you, âzyungel”_ Thorin snarled in Bilbo’s ear.

            Bilbo released a loud moan which was close to a scream, “Thorin!  Khad, Thorin!”

            With a few more powerful strokes, Bilbo screamed out his climax while Thorin growled out his own completion.

            Bilbo was sweaty and hot but Thorin was a cool breeze over them.   Slowly his breath was evening out and Thorin hovered near him on the bed.

            _“Sanâzyung”_

            “I love you.  More than I can say.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

          

            Bilbo lay quietly as Thorin’s hands glided down his naked form.  It was so amazing to Bilbo that Thorin’s spirit was so much more solid, so much more tangible than it had been in the past.  And all the questions he had asked before came to mind as he wondered if anything had changed.

            “Thorin.  Can you remember where you go when you aren’t with me?”

_“No, my little one.  It all seems like a dream.”_

            “How is it that you are so much more solid?”

            _“That is not a question I can answer.  I only thank Mahal that I am.”_

            “Do you still feel tied to me?”

            _“I am, but not as before.  I am more removed from your emotions, yet still tied to your heart.  Where you are is where I must be.”_

            “Are you aware of me on the other side?”

            _“I cannot say.  I want to believe that I am – if only to deny that I may be alone.”_

            This sent a chill up Bilbo’s spine at the thought of Thorin alone and drifting throughout the year.

            “I hope you are in the Halls of Waiting and that you are happy there.”

            _“I don’t think that I am happy there.”_

            “Why do you say that?”  Bilbo was crushed.

            _“How could I be?  I don’t have you.”_

            If Bilbo felt the crush of Thorn’s unhappiness, it was complete now.  He tried to hide the guilt and shame he was feeling.  After all these years and the few hours they spent in each them together, Bilbo still had moments of horror when he thought of trapping Thorin in his half-life.  He wasn’t at peace, and therefore, neither was Bilbo.

            “I wish I had died with you.”  It was said in a whisper but then nothing could escape Thorin.      

            _“Hush, little one, my akhùthuzh âzyungel. You must not say such things.  You must continue to live for us both.  We will be together – I simply must continue to be patient.”_

            But Bilbo realized that his patience was sometimes thin.  He had lived twenty-seven years without Thorin and his only comfort now was that there were fewer days ahead than behind.  He was seventy-eight years old and he knew that few lived past one hundred.  Only twenty-eight years at most.  _Then, we can finally have our happily ever after._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> akhùthuzh - eternal  
> amagur – Bear  
> âzyungel – love of loves  
> ighyu – Lesser Dove (Little Dove)  
> khad – to take instant action  
> mizimel – jewel of jewels  
> sanâzyung – perfect love


	6. Adrift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One can find one's self adrift on the river of life - Unfortunately, one also never knows what those waters can take from you.

* * *

 

_**10/03/2980** _

            As far as he could see, it was the most perfect morning.  Crystal clear sky and lovely puffy clouds; just the barest hint of a breeze carrying the smell of lavender planted in his garden.  He could see the fauntlings running and playing down in the Party Meadow and he knew that if he walked down to the lake, the sounds of the ducks and geese would greet him.  Truly, no Hobbit could have wished for a more beautiful start to a day.

            He cleaned away the last of the dishes from second breakfast and was just about to start his morning tidy-up, when it struck him that it was actually better to just enjoy the day.  He opened the front door and sat on the bench right outside and proceeded to stuff his pipe.  This was the kind of morning that called for Old Toby.

            As he lit his pipe, he was reminded once again of that fateful morning when his life had changed – although, truth be told, he had no idea it had at the time.  Gandalf and thirteen dwarves, an empty pantry, a mad dash through Hobbiton – which to this day makes him chuckle out loud, and an adventure the like of which The Shire had never seen before or since. 

            But of course, it was more than just his life and the way he lived it that was changed on that adventure – his heart was never the same as well.  If Gandalf had told him in what way he would never be the same, he might have thought twice before running out his door. 

            No, that was a total lie.  If he had known then what he knew now – even knowing the outcome and the pain, he would have signed that damn contract the second Thorin had thrust it at him.

            Thorin – it always came back to that stubborn, pig-headed, gruff, utterly irresistible and beautiful Dwarf.  And the pain that Bilbo had caused him.

            Oh yes, to this day, Thorin insisted that there was no pain and that Bilbo should not feel guilty in his actions, but that was hard to believe when during the year Bilbo was alone with his guilt and thoughts and the full weight of tying Thorin’s spirit to him was too much for a simple Hobbit to bare.  Of course, come mid-winter and he had Thorin there with him, those feelings were much easier to push down.  It was in those moments when he was most Dwarf-like in his possessiveness. 

            Sometimes though, Bilbo would swear that Thorin was with him even throughout the year.  Now and then there would be the hint of a touch, the barest caress of the wind – although there was never a wind.  By Mahal, Bilbo would almost bet his best silver that he heard his name.    But it was for not – he was quite well aware that it was all his imagination.

            Not that he didn’t long for it. 

            Bilbo often daydreamed as to what their life could have been like had they had the chance to share it.  He imagined they moved back to the The Shire after a long reign, Thorin giving the throne up to Fili – Kili ruling by his brother’s side, and Bilbo and Thorin having time for themselves, perhaps lying in the grass, having picnics, sharing their memories, Thorin laughing heartily as Bilbo braided flowers in the Dwarf’s hair.  Of all the things he regretted – it was not his or Thorin’s actions; it was the missed chance to just be together.

            Bilbo stopped himself.  He was heading down a road that he knew better than to travel.  It was a wonderful morning and he was spoiling it by dwelling on the things that no one could give him.

            It was time to get busy with the day.  He had a smial to clean and he really needed to get a present for Belle Gamgee to congratulate her on the birth of her son, Samwise.

            He was just putting his pipe away and standing when he heard his name called.   A small Hobbit boy was running up the lane, all wide-eyed and out of breath, calling for his attention.

            “Mister Bilbo!” the boy yelled.  “Wait!”  The boy was waving what looked like a letter or note in his hand.        

            Bilbo slowly descended the stairs to the front gate to meet the lad.  “Hello there.  What can I do for you, my boy?”  Bilbo didn’t recognize the lad.

            “My da said this was important and told me to bring it right away!”

            Bilbo was suddenly hit with recognition – the lad was Albie Truewater, the post master’s son.  Fishing in his pocket, he drew out a small gold coin and handed it to the boy and took what was clearly a letter.  Albie thanked him and took off; a strange kind of nervous/scared look on his face.

            The letter looked hastily filled out as the hand writing was crooked and far from neat.  There was no proper return address, only _Brandy Hall_ scrawled on the back top.  Just as he broke the wax seal, Bilbo once again heard his name.

            “Mister Bilbo,” Hamfast Gamgee said, coming up the lane.  “Is everything all right?”

            “Yes of course, Hamfast,” Bilbo replied with a quick smile.  “Why do you ask?”

            “Well, saw young Albie running up the lane and thought there might be a bit of trouble.”

            “He was just bringing me this letter.  Apparently it was urgent enough to warrant a quick delivery.”  Bilbo took out the letter and looked down.

            “Well, I will leave you be then.”  Hamfast started to turn but stopped.  Bilbo’s face had gone pale, with wide-eyes and his mouth slowly dropped open.  “Mister Bilbo?”

            Bilbo couldn’t hear Hamfast for the blood rushing in his ears.

            Bilbo read quickly twice over but his mind just wasn’t taking it in.  It made no sense.  He read it a third time and still it was nothing but words on the paper.  It had to be a mistake, a game, some terrible joke but it just wasn’t funny.  Bilbo didn’t find it funny at all.  It was plainly a lie.  Frodo’s twelfth birthday party was just a few weeks ago; they were all just at Brandy Hall, laughing and joking; Primula, Drogo and himself, laughing and swapping jokes while Frodo and all the young kids playing with all the toys.  They were all there, happy and content.

            Bilbo didn’t hear Hamfast call his name again, or even hear the Hobbit yell for his wife to come quick.  Bilbo didn’t even feel himself stumble back and fall, as the letter informing him of Primula’s and Drogo’s deaths fluttered to the ground forgotten.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo----- 

 

_**10/05/2980** _

            Bilbo thought there were too many people in Brandy Hall for the great smial to be so quiet.  Usually the place was a riot of noise and laughter and food and merriment with only a fraction of the people.  Sure there was conversation and the occasional laugh, but it was subdued.  It seemed unnatural for the hall to be this sedate. 

            But then, this was a most unnatural state to begin with.  To think that he would never again hug his cousins, see Drogo’s warm smile or Primula’s bright eyes, never hear their voices, or be in their presence again.  It was still too much for Bilbo to comprehend. 

            Most Hobbits celebrated those that passed and remembered them, their lives and accomplishments, with mirth and laughter.  To speed along the healing process and to make sure they are never forgotten or overlooked.   Bilbo understood all this.  It was a very Hobbit trait. 

            It even showed in how they dressed.  Hobbits wore their best clothes to a wake.  Not necessarily their brightest colors mind you, those were for weddings, birthdays and festivals.  Wakes were for your best clothes, your finest. 

            But he just couldn’t bring himself to appreciate any of these points.  He didn’t feel like celebrating or laughing.  It was all he could do to make small talk and pleasantries.  It was all too raw, too close to his heart for him find anything to celebrate.

            Primula’s parents were so kind and Mirabella was moving around the room, chatting and mingling as if this was all just some great party.  Bilbo really couldn’t blame her of course – to lose your beloved daughter and son-in-law had to be a great shock to her.

            “Is there anything I can get you?”  Mirabella Brandybuck asked as she came up to Bilbo’s side.  “Something to drink or eat?”

            “No, thank you,” Bilbo replied, giving Mirabella small smile.

            He had been mostly silent since arriving, only greeting those with the shortest, simplest of answers.

            “Of course,” Mirabella acknowledged.  “We are just waiting for a couple of people from Greenfields to arrive and then we will be ready to go to the meeting hall.” 

            Brandy Hall was huge, but it could not have accommodated everyone that was due to arrive, so it had been decided to have the wake at the meeting hall in Bucklebury. 

            “How many are coming do you know?”  Bilbo asked, trying any conversation to just make the time go faster.

            “I have lost count.  I actually hope that there will be enough room for everyone, let alone seating.”

            “Who is staying with Frodo?”

            It had been decided that Frodo would not attend the wake.  It would be far too traumatic for the young boy and Mirabella was adamant that she would shield him from any more death as much as she could.  Bilbo understood.  It had been hard for him to lose his parents when he was younger and he had actually been of age at the time.

            “Her sister, Amaranth, offered to stay as did her brother, Rorimac.”

            “Oh no – if you would like, I will be more than happy to stay with Frodo.”

            “Are you sure, Bilbo?  I know how close you three were.”

            “It’s fine, really.  Her siblings need to be there and I would be more than happy to be with Frodo.”

            “That’s so kind of you.  I know Amaranth and Rorimac will be very appreciative.”

            Bilbo just smiled.  He did want to go so badly, but truly, if he could spend the time with Frodo, he might actually feel a bit closer to Prim and Drogo.  “Where is Frodo, by the way?”

            “Oh, I think he is out in the back garden.  At least he was the last time I looked.”

            Bilbo excused himself and headed outside.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo----- 

 

 

            Autumn flowers filled the back garden with color.  It was another life lesson that Bilbo had learned early on.  No matter what happened in life, the sun would shine, the flowers would bloom and the cycle would continue on.   But right now, the colors were almost an affront to him; mocking rather than soothing.

            Bilbo searched the garden, but saw nothing.  He was starting to think that the boy had gone back inside or perhaps had wandered around to the front of the smial. 

            It was all starting to hit him again and he finally ended up sitting on a stone bench in one of the back clearings of the huge garden.  He drew in some deep breaths and tried to relax his shoulders but it didn’t really work.  He ended up holding his head in one hand, and attempting to rub away the building headache.

            There was sudden movement near by and Bilbo looked up to see Frodo immerge from the bushes next to him.

            “Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo said, coming to stand in front of Bilbo.  “Are you okay?”

            “Yes, my boy,” Bilbo answered, giving the best smile he was able.  Frodo moved to get on the bench at the exact same time Bilbo sat back, allowing Frodo to continue directly into Bilbo’s lap.

            “How are you feeling, Frodo?

            Frodo did not meet Bilbo’s eyes.  “I miss my mommy and daddy,” Frodo said, almost a whisper.

            “I know you do.” Bilbo took one of Frodo’s tiny hands in his own.  “And it’s all right to miss them.  That shows how much you love them.”

            “Have you ever missed someone?”  Frodo asked, gazing up at Bilbo through his dark lashes.

            Bilbo was stunned for a minute.  He wanted to smile and tell the boy no and laugh it off.  Part of him wanted to say of course that he had but that it gets better.  Part of him wanted to burst into tears and just fall over to the ground.

            _Have you ever missed someone_

            Oh by the gods, how he missed someone.  As if it was just moments ago, Bilbo could remember walking forward and kneeling at Thorin’s iron coffin, arranging his braids so that they were straight and perfect.  He could see himself placing the Arkenstone on Thorin’s chest and cursing the stone with all his soul.

            _Have you ever missed someone_

But worst of all, Bilbo suddenly remembered the touch of Thorin’s cold, marble-like hands and the realization that they were lifeless, dead, and that he would never feel the warm touch of Thorin’s hands again on his skin.  Even Thorin’s spirit couldn’t match that.  Oh Yavanna help him, because Bilbo could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his tears were welling in his eyes.

            “Yes, Frodo my lad,” Bilbo replied quietly.  “I have.”

            Silence continued for long seconds, before Frodo who broke the quiet.  There was hesitation before Frodo spoke.  “Tobin Bolger says that only babies cry.”  Frodo voice was small, unsure as he glanced up at Bilbo.

            A cold anger builds up in him, before Bilbo was able to breath and calm his voice.  “That is totally untrue.”  Frodo’s eyes grew wide as Bilbo continued.  “There is no shame in tears, for they have nothing to do with weakness.

            “Often we do not have words to say what we are feeling in our hearts, and tears allow our hearts to speak, more than our words ever could.”

            Frodo’s composure eroded and he stood to wrap his arms around Bilbo’s neck, his sobs barely concealed.  Bilbo enclosed the little Hobbit in his arms and cradled his head, swaying a just little. 

            How long they stayed there, Bilbo couldn’t say later.  But both shed the tears for their hearts that yearned to speak.

 

 

 


	7. Family - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family forms at Bag End and an old friend brings ill-news of family far away.

**_04/15/2990_ **

            The night was warm, and there was a light breeze as Frodo slowly made his way back up to Bag End. It was so late, but he had a good time. He enjoyed the company of Halfred and Hamson. They were both nice and the three of them had made fast friends since Frodo moved in last year.   Of course, Frodo didn’t get to see them often, what with Hal and Ham helping out their father and their upcoming weddings and moves; Hamson was moving to Tighfield to become a roper with his uncle, Andwise, while Halfred was heading to Northfarthing. But at least they all had Highdays to get out and see each other.

            Of course, their young brother, Samwise, had again tried to sneak along. Frodo had to laugh to himself when he thought about Sam; the boy reminded him of his little cousin, Meriadoc, except Sam was not prone to mischief. Both boys were fine young chaps and had bright smiles and good natures. He made a mental note to introduce the two when he got a chance – maybe Sam could keep Merry out of trouble. He doubted it, but it was worth a try.

            _Stickle-bats!_ Frodo kicked himself. _I must remember to send a present to Paladin for the birth of his baby boy, Peregrin._

            As he approached Bag End, he saw there was light in the Parlour, but judging from the flicker, it was only the hearth. _Uncle Bilbo must have stoked the fire too much; shouldn’t be this bright so far after mid-night._ He was sure that Uncle Bilbo had long since gone to bed.

            Frodo couldn’t keep a smile from his face at the thought of his Uncle. Bilbo was quick with a smile, a joke, a parable or tale and seemed to solve any problem with a cup of tea and a tin of biscuits. Frodo remembered his mother always talking about Uncle Bilbo. Many of the memories that he had of her, involved either visiting with or talking about Uncle Bilbo – though strangely, his mother always seemed to have a bit of sadness in her eyes when she talked about Uncle. Frodo never found out why.

            Yes, he loved Uncle dearly.

            Of course, that didn’t stop him from also worrying about him. Uncle Bilbo had gotten so much … _older_ it seemed in just the last few years. Uncle was still spry but his hair had finally gone all grey and he was not as quick as he once was. Sometimes, Frodo would find him lost in his own thoughts by the fire and humming a tune that was most certainly not Hobbitish. When asked, Bilbo would just say it was some song he picked up and swore he couldn’t remember the particulars. However, Frodo had his suspicions that Bilbo knew exactly where and when.

            Wiping his feet, Frodo unlocked the latch and slowly opened the door. The fire in the Parlour was low but still needed to be put out. He closed the door, holding the handle to keep the latch from clicking too loudly, and then locked the door. As he turned around, he stopped in tracks – there was Uncle, sitting in his chair by the fire.

            “Uncle?” Frodo said, softly. “Uncle Bilbo?” Then Frodo noticed that Bilbo was actually asleep; open book in his lap.

            Quietly, Frodo made his way to Bilbo’s side and reached out to gently wake him. But his hand was stayed when Bilbo began to murmur. “No – No – Please stay with me – I’m so sorry – It’s all my fault – all my fault.”

            _All my fault?_ Frodo was taken aback. _What was his fault?_ “Uncle? Uncle Bilbo.” Frodo called again but Bilbo responded with a soft snore.

            Frodo reached out again to touch Bilbo’s shoulder and wake him when Bilbo began to hum in his sleep – Bilbo’s ‘forgotten’ song, and for the first time, there was words, “Far over – the misty mountains cold, to dungeon deep – and caverns old.”

            “Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo said louder.

            Bilbo gave a little jerk and blinked his eyes. “Oh, my lad,” Bilbo said, his voice a bit sleep heavy. “You’re home. Did you have a good time?”

            “Yes,” Frodo answered. “The Gamgees where there as well as Ludo Diggle.” Frodo came around to stand in front of his Uncle. “What are you doing up so late, Uncle?”

            “Is it late?” Bilbo glanced up at the mantle clock. “I got caught up reading; guess I feel asleep.”

            “You should be in bed, Uncle.”

            “Yes. Yes, you’re quite right.” Bilbo closed the forgotten book in his lap and placed it on the small table next to him, then made to stand. Frodo offered his hand, which Bilbo accepted gladly and whispered his thanks.

            “I need to dampen the fire,” Bilbo said, turning slightly towards the hearth.

            Frodo said placing a hand on Bilbo’s arm to stop him. “I’ll take care of that, Uncle. You go to bed.”

            Bilbo nodded and patted Frodo on his upper arm. “Sweet dreams, Frodo my boy.”

            “You too, Uncle Bilbo.”

            Frodo followed his uncle to the hallway and watched as Bilbo made his way to the main bedroom.

            Frodo returned to the front room and knelt down before the fire. He wondered as to the song. Never before had he heard words with the melody and now that he had, he was positive – as he always suspected, that the song was Dwarvish; clearly picked up on his uncle’s adventure years ago.

            Frodo became lost in his own thoughts. Uncle didn’t often tell the tales about his adventures anymore. Most of the children had grown up and heard them all. Frodo, of course, wanted to know more. He had asked Uncle if there anything else to the tale that he had not shared, any side adventure or tid-bit that was not mentioned. Bilbo would only chuckle and say that life was filled with little things here and there and one couldn’t possibly tell them all. He assured Frodo that everything worth telling was told.

            But Frodo still wondered.

            The song was in his head and he began to hum what he knew and finally couldn’t keep from singing the few words that he had heard tonight. It was a lovely tune but seemed tinged with sadness or pain. Of course, Frodo tried to tell himself that he couldn’t really say that for sure, seeing as he only heard two lines.

            Suddenly Frodo froze.

            He could swear he heard footsteps. He listened intensely before calling out. “Hello?”

            No answer.

            He waited a moment before shrugging and turning back to the fire. However, his ears were still tuned to other noises and he heard the sound again. The dim groan and creak of the wood floors under the weight of footsteps and what sounded like bells – bells in the distance.

            Frodo stood and silently made his way back to the east hall. He looked left and right but saw no one. “Is there anyone there?”

            There was no reply.

            Frodo walked to the darkened pantry, looked in and then turned to look into the moon-lit dining room.

            There was still no one to be seen.

            Again, he shrugged his shoulders, convinced that he was too tired and hearing things. He returned to the parlour hearth and put out the fire completely. Once he was in bed and settled down, he drifted off to sleep with the echo of the Dwarvish song resounded in his ears.

 

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

 

            Thorin wandered the dark and quiet smial as quietly as he could. While he wished his Hobbit was awake and that he could speak with him, he didn’t entirely mind being along here at night.  

            Over the years, his spirit had gotten strong and stronger; gone were the days when he was but a mere shade, tied to Bilbo only on the mid-winter full moon. Gone was the uncontrollable connection to Bilbo’s emotions.

            He was tied to Bilbo – make no mistake. Where his sweet and comely Bilbo was, that is where Thorin must be. Could he be elsewhere? Maybe – but Thorin had no desire, wish or hope for any place other than Bilbo’s side. Bilbo was his world and he would stay there happily.

            And into their little shared world had come another Hobbit, Frodo. Oh, now there was a sweet boy. It did hurt a little; Thorin could well imagine the three of them together – a little family. Bilbo and Frodo chattering away and making meals and laughing their bright laughs that Thorin loved to hear; Thorin, maybe, sitting in a chair by the parlour hearth, reading or smoking his pipe – content and happy to have his Hobbits about him, filling him with joy and love, simply sharing all that had been denied him in life.

            He needed to stop.

            If there was one thing that Thorin realized, it was that while his emotions were not tied to Bilbo as closely as before, Bilbo’s emotions could be easily influenced by Thorin’s. Just like tonight. Bilbo had been reading and when he dosed off, Thorin was taken by how beautifully he had aged and he was filled suddenly with bitterness at the passage of time. He wished terribly that he had lived on and had had the chance to be with Bilbo until the end of their days together. As he had wished all this, Bilbo had begun to dream of Thorin’s death.

            Oh curse him! What had he done? He had filled his love’s heart with his own despair and he had watched Bilbo moan and cry for Thorin to stay and not leave him. Thankfully, Frodo had come home, woke Bilbo and set his little love to bed.

            Thank Mahal for Frodo.

            Thorin had been so sad to see that Bilbo’s cousins had died. He had liked them very much. The times they had all been together, it was all Thorin could do not to appear – so much fun to watch Bilbo laugh and joke with Primula, who had a wicked sense of humor that Thorin adored, and Drogo, who was a steady and honorable Hobbit and clearly cared for his cousin – Thorin would have loved to know him too. But then the letter came that told of their deaths and Thorin at the time had not been able to appear fully and had to watch as his poor Bilbo had stumbled and fainted from the shock.

            But Frodo had been there. Thorin was close by when Bilbo had comforted the lad in the back garden at Primula’s mother’s home and the young Hobbit had, in his own way, comforted Bilbo in his own pain.

            When Frodo moved in last year, Thorin thought it a very good idea. In fact, he has always hoped that Frodo would have moved in much sooner!   But he and Bilbo had talked about it and Bilbo had said that it just wasn’t fair for a young child of twelve to be stuck alone in a big smial with nothing but an aging old Hobbit for company. Thorin didn’t want to hear that kind of talk but he did understand Bilbo’s reasoning. Therefore, Frodo stayed in Brandy Hall and grew up with other kids, played and had as normal a life as possible for an orphan. Now, in his tweens, he had been adopted by Bilbo so that Bag End could be passed on to an heir that was more like Bilbo than anyone else in the family.

            And of course, it kept that harpy, Lobelia, away Bag End as well. Thorin hated that woman and her goat faced husband. Had he been living he was sure it would be all he could do to not take his sword and chase them through Hobbiton. But he had to contend with scaring them in whatever way he could! He liked that part for sure.   Why, just the other day, the pinched-faced old bat had been bad-mouthing Bilbo just out of ear-shot, with one of her bitchy friends and Thorin had not been able to resist making sure she "accidentally" tripped and end up face down in the mud!  Thorin would gladly admit that it had been fun but he knew Bilbo would be less than thrilled, so Thorin kept that little secret to himself.

            No, Frodo had been a grand addition to Bag End – and Bilbo’s life in general, and Thorin had come to care and love the boy himself. Now the young Hobbit was warm and snug in his bed, and Thorin could not resist singing low and softly to lull the boy to sleep.

 

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

 

            Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window. Frodo could feel it’s warmth on his face and see it behind his eyelids. He became aware of birdsong and he slowly opened his eyes to the bright morning. He could not hear distinct movements, but was as aware of the other inhabitant of Bag End as he was of the sunlight before he was fully awake.

            He quickly got out of bed and dressed. He padded his way through the smial and watched Uncle Bilbo walk from the pantry to the dining room as he got close.

            “Good morning, Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo said, entering the kitchen.

            “Did you get enough sleep?” Bilbo loaded a plate with griddlecakes; hard-over fried eggs and sausages, and then handed it to Frodo, before turning back and loading up a plate for himself.

            “Plenty thanks,” Frodo said, taking his plate into the dining room and sitting on the far side from the kitchen. Bilbo entered and sat on the side opposite.

            “What are you plans for today?” Bilbo asked before lifting his sausage filled fork to his mouth.

            Frodo swallowed and then answered, “Hamson has to go to Frogmorton, so I thought I would tag along.”

            “Do you need any money?” Bilbo asked.

            “Thank you, but no. I am fine Uncle,” Frodo answered.

            The rest of the meal was taken up with who was out last night and who said what. There was much gossip, as was Hobbit nature, and Bilbo roared with laughter at the story about Lobelia suddenly tripping over herself and landing face first in mud. The fact that she was bad-mouthing Bilbo at the time to Grace Attleburn was just the icing on the cake!

            As they were finishing up, there was a knock on the door.

            “Could you go see who that is, my boy?” Bilbo asked as he took the dirty dishes into the kitchen.

            Frodo trotted off to the front door, and found Albie Truewater, the postmaster’s tween son on the other side.

            “Hello, Albie,” Frodo said smiling.

            “Good day, Mister Frodo,” Albie replied.

            Albie gave Frodo a shy smile – which only served to add credence to the rumor that he was taken with the young master of Bag End. Frodo wasn’t upset, nor was he unappreciative – just not sure if he was totally interested or not. Albie was tall for a Hobbit, being half a head taller than Frodo and stout, but he was very sweet and he had those big brown eyes that always drew Frodo’s attention.

            “What can I – _do for you_?” Frodo asked – putting a tiny bit of innuendo in his question. Judging from the pink blush that spread across young Mister Truewater’s apple cheeks and ear tips, Frodo had succeeded.

            “I have – uhm – I have a letter here,” Albie held out a large envelope, “for Mister Bilbo.”

            “Oh, thanks,” Frodo reached out and made sure that his fingers just brushed against Albie’s. “Maybe I’ll see you later tonight? At The Green Dragon?”

            Albie’s eyes widen just a bit. “Oh, sure! Sure!” Albie’s smile grew a bit brighter, but he wasn’t paying attention and stumbled as he stepped back, almost spilling down the fronts stairs.

            Frodo stepped forward and quickly grabbed Albie’s arm. “Be careful!” Frodo put his best concern expression on his face and then very slightly licked his lips. “I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

            Albie got a dreamy look on his face before shaking himself back to the moment. “Thanks, Mis – Mister Frodo.” Albie turned and made his way down the stairs – which was complicated by his turning back to look at Frodo a couple more times. At the gate, he turned and waved. “Have a good day, Frodo.”

            Frodo raised an eyebrow, “Good-bye, Albie.” And throwing caution to the wind, he added a small wink before shutting the door on a completely wrecked Albie Truewater.

            Frodo leaned against the back of the door and smiled. _Yeah – I think I’ll try a bit of that. I’ll ask if he wants company on his mail rounds tomorrow!_

“Who was at the door?” Bilbo called from the kitchen.

            “Albie Truewater,” Frodo replied, walking into the kitchen after placing Uncle’s letter next to his chair.

            “Ah,” Bilbo turned and gave Frodo a little smile. “Young Mister Truewater must have been _very pleased_ you answered the door and not me.”

            Frodo just shrugged but smiled. “It’s possible.” Bilbo just laughed. “He brought a letter for you – I put it by your chair.”

            “Thank you my lad.” Bilbo said, washing the last of the dishes.

            “I’m going to head out now.”

            “Very well. Are you sure you don’t need any money?”

            “Positive. But thank you, Uncle.”

            “When do you expect to be back?”  
            “Tonight. Around dinner. But it might be as late as supper.”

            Bilbo dried his hands on a dish towel and then patted Frodo on the shoulder. “Well, be safe but have fun!”

            “Thanks, Uncle Bilbo.” Frodo turned for the door. “See you tonight.” Frodo called over his shoulder as he closed the door.

            Bilbo put the kettle on and took out a cup and some tea. As the water finished boiling, Bilbo let the tea seep while he fetched the honey.

            Once the tea was ready, he took the cup out to the bench at the bottom of the front steps and pulled out his pipe. It was a gorgeous day and Bilbo could think of nothing nicer than to enjoy a cuppa and his pipe while watching all of Hobbiton come alive. He breathed in deep and relished the smells of spring around him.

            It wasn’t but twenty minutes later, as he sat with his eyes closed, face raised to the late morning sun, that a shadow fell over him and he opened a single eye, only to be startled into opening both.

            “Gandalf?” Bilbo said, jerking out of his reverence. “What in the name of the Green Fields are you doing here?” It was meant as surprise, certainly not as an accusation.

            The wizard on the other hand, gave a raised eyebrow and a pointed look in return. “Are you under the impression that I am here for some ulterior motive, Bilbo Baggins?! Are you so isolated that you cannot fathom a visit from an old friend– for friends are what I believed us to be!   Or do you presume something more nefarious?”

            Once upon a time, Bilbo would have been flummoxed by this barrage of words. Once, but not now.

            Bilbo crossed his arms and returned Gandalf’s raised eyebrow with one of his own. “Do not twist words with me, Gandalf. I have riddled with that creature, Gollum, in a dank, filthy cave and a dragon in a cold, gold-filled mountain, and I can assure you, I will not play games with you in the warm sunshine of The Shire.”

            Both stood their ground until finally, neither could keep a straight face nor refrain from laughing uproariously at their own ridiculousness.

            Bilbo jumped to his feet and was pulled into a hug by the Wizard. “It is wonderful to see you, Gandalf.”

            “As it is you, my friend.”

            Bilbo pulled back and gave the wizard a narrowed look. “But, truly I am not fooled – as glad as I am to see you, I have a feeling you are not here just for a visit.” Bilbo motioned for Gandalf to following inside.

            “Clever as always, my dear Hobbit,” Gandalf said, “While it has been too long and I have wished to visit, I sadly bear ill news of others you would call friend or _family_.”

            Bilbo stopped half-way up the stairs and turned. “Ill news? What is this ill news?” He could now see that there was no amusement on the wizard’s face, only concern – and possibly sadness, in his eyes.

            Gandalf made his way through the gate and came closer to Bilbo. “I believe that it would be wiser for us to discuss these matters in the quiet of your home.”

            “Of course,” Bilbo said a little distracted as his mind whirled. For the life of him, he could not think what this ill-news could be. However, he was not so rattled that he could not guess that it must be his Dwarfs – who else could be considered both friends and family, besides Frodo. _Has Erebor fallen? Has the gold madness struck again?_ _Oh Yavanna, please don’t let it be another dragon!_

“Would you care for some tea?” Bilbo asked. “Or red wine instead?”

            “Tea would be best,” Gandalf replied, removing his hat and standing his staff near the front door.

            Bilbo bustled around in the kitchen and returned not five minutes later with tea for both Gandalf and himself. He pulled out the larger chair from the corner that he had ready for larger folk, then proceeded to take his own chair by the fire.

            “So,” Bilbo said taking a deep breath, “what is this news?”

            “I know not where to begin,” Gandalf said. His eyes seemed to focus on nothing for a bit as if he was trying to work something out in his head.

            “Start at the beginning,” Bilbo offered; it seemed the most logical.

            “That’s the trouble, my dear Bilbo,” Gandalf said, still staring into nothingness with wide eyes. “Where is the beginning?”

            They sat for several long minutes more before Bilbo could take no more.

            “Oh, come on, Gandalf,” Bilbo said, with a nervous sigh. “Don’t dally in the daisies, just – spit it out.” Bilbo had no malice or frustration behind the words other than that which yearns to get the worse over with.

            “Very well,” Gandalf said, setting down his cup. “Several months ago, Dale played host to a large caravan of Easterling merchants. They had heard of the Lonely Mountain and wished to make a tidy profit off selling to the Men and Dwarrow.

            “They were doing quite a good business, and most complimented that the merchants were rough but good-natured. No one had any issue with them and of course, the merchants had been welcomed to come into Erebor’s market as well.”

            Bilbo could not see where this was going. Surely if this was leading to some kind of attack by the Easterlings, they would have been no match for the combined forces of Dale and Erebor.

            “As with most long distance travelers,” Gandalf continued, “a few of the merchants became ill. No one considered this odd or even note worthy, especially the Dwarrow who, as you know, are not usually afflicted by illnesses of Men. However, the illness was stealthy, it lay dormant for several days and then hit with a voraciousness that I myself had not heard off, let alone seen. Quickly all of Dale was infected and suffering either the effects of or succumbing to the affliction.”

            Bilbo’s mouth gapped at the implications. Dale was a healthy city at this point, rich and full of life. In fact, last he heard there were thousands living there. “How many live in the city?”

            “There _were_ ,” Gandalf said with a resigned tone, “just under one hundred thousand residents.”

            “Were.” Bilbo said flatly, not liking the past tense used.

            “When all was over,” Gandalf replied, nodding, “only half the population recovered.” Bilbo gasped at the staggering number. “Most of those lost were children and elderly.”

            Bilbo covered his mouth with both hands and closed his eyes tight; it was too awful to think of. It was hard to lose anyone to illness, but children. He could only imagine the pain of the parents and survivors; he wondered how he would cope if Frodo had succumbed to such a thing.

            “What of Bain, the King?” Bilbo asked. He remembered the bright boy he had met on his quest, so full of life and hope.

            “The king lives,” Gandalf said, “as does his family.”

            “Oh thank Yavanna,” Bilbo breathed out. “What of the Dwarfs? How are they helping?”

            “Their not,” Gandalf answered flatly.

            “What do you mean?” Bilbo asked.

            “They have closed Erebor and barred outsiders from the mountain.”

            Bilbo was incredulous. It made no sense at all. “How could they turn their backs on Dale?” It was outrageous, completely barbaric in its implications. But then, he should not expect anything else. “Oh, that bastard! Dain is the most insensitive, pompous, foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach of a Dwarf! If Thorin was alive –”

            “The outcome would very well be the same.”

            “How dare you?!” Bilbo was beside himself. “Thorin would never turn his back on those that were suffering!”

            “And neither did Dain,” Gandalf said quietly, giving Bilbo a pointed look. “I fear your opinion is biased in regard to Dain.”

            “You forget, Gandalf,” Bilbo said waspishly, “I heard the condescension in Dain’s voice when we were in Thorin’s tomb! I saw the mockery of a tomb marker that Dain – _reluctantly_ , graced Thorin with!”

            Gandalf quietly reached for his tea and took a drink. However, his eyes did not leave Bilbo’s and he didn’t speak until the Hobbit had taken several deep breaths to calm himself. “I can easily understand your view of Dain, at that time.”

            “Oh can you?” Bilbo snarked.

            “Yes, I can!” Gandalf said with a bit more force. This startled the Hobbit a bit and allowed him to continue. “I would like to point out, as I found out much later, that Dain had no idea of your relationship to Thorin at that time. No one informed him of your bond and as far as he was concerned, you were an overreacting outsider.”

            “Well – that’s just ignorance,” Bilbo added dismissively. “How could he not piece it together?”

            “I would like to remind _you_ that for his entire long life, Dain knew and respect his cousin Thorin very well. So much so that he named his only son after Thorin. If anyone had told Dain that Thorin, of all Dwarfs, would love a being outside his race, he would have scoffed at the very idea. Thorin was well known to hate Elves, and distrust Men. And as much as it pains me to mention it, Thorin was not in the least bit happy at the prospect of having a Hobbit in his company, prior to actually having met you in person.”

            Bilbo felt like he was deflating. He wanted to rage and tell Gandalf he was wrong, he wanted to shout that he had no right to speak of his love in those terms and how dare he make Thorin sound like some wretch!   But he couldn’t in the end, because it was true. Thorin didn’t care for other races – how could he have? Thorin and his folk had been dealt a fate that no one should have been given and at each turn he had been deceived, abandoned or used by those that should have been allies. No, the fact that Thorin had fallen for him, a simple Hobbit, an outsider – it was unthinkable to anyone outside the company. Even Thorin and himself had denied their feelings in the beginning.

            But there was so much more to blame Dain for.

            “But, Dain didn’t want to entomb Thorin with the other kings!”

            “That was the council, not Dain, and they were going by strict Dwarrow customs.”

            “But Dis had to bully him into it.”

            “Dis may have believed that, but it was the council that ultimately gave in.”

            “But Dain also moved the feast of the Battle and named it his own! He denied Thorin the credit he deserved!”

            “Yes, he did move the feast day – for the first several years, but that was due to shortages of food and supplies. Did you not realize that the farms around the mountain took over a decade to recover? Had Thorin lived and you stayed by his side, who knows what might have been if there was a Hobbit in Erebor to oversee the fields and help recovery. The renaming was his councils idea and not popular with Dain at all. And Dain has long since moved the feast back to the date of the battle and Thorin is praised for all that he did. In fact, Dain has honored Thorin with a new moniker – they call him Thorin, The Reclaimer now. Did you not know this?”

            Bilbo did not. “No – Dis never mentioned it to me.”

            “I am sure there are a great many things her Ladyship failed to mention or realize.”

            “I refuse to believe the worst of Dis.” Bilbo had come to consider Dis a sister of his heart if not a sister thru marriage.

            “Dis was a strong woman but she was not without her flaws. She never fully recovered from the loss of her sons and her brother and any attempt, whether real or imagined, to impugn their memory was taken as a personal slight.”

            Bilbo was still not finished with his accusations. “But Dain removed many of Thorin’s company from positions in the kingdom and gave them to his own people!”

            “As any king would, Bilbo. But for Dain, it was not so much nepotism, but a requirement. Many of your friends from the company, but especially Dis and Balin, often butted heads with Dain and his council whenever anything was remotely considered against Thorin’s wishes or what his decisions would have been. No king can govern under the specter of his predecessor.”

            It was terrible to think on – it left a hollow feeling inside him, and Bilbo wasn’t sure what to think. Gandalf was right, no king should rule from the grave and no sitting king can continuously govern with only a ghost as his guide. Bilbo had blindly listened to Dis, who he didn’t want to blame, in regard to Dain’s rule. And yes, Bilbo had to admit, his own prejudices against Dain, due in large part to what he saw as usurping Thorin’s crown and place, had colored his opinion since the beginning. By the Gods, he hadn’t even known about Dain’s son and his naming him after Thorin.

`           Suddenly, something Gandalf mentioned hit Bilbo like a ton of bricks.

            “Wait,” Bilbo looked at Gandalf intensely, “you said Dis _was_ a strong woman – past tense.”

            Gandalf took another sip of tea but avoided Bilbo’s eyes. He took a deep breath before saying anything. “Dis has gone to The Halls with Thorin and her sons.”

            Bilbo was in shock, he felt numb. Dis, the sister of his heart, was gone. He felt tears well up in his eyes and he wasn’t sure he could speak, but he must. “When did this happen?” Bilbo could just control his voice enough to be heard clearly.

            “As I was saying,” Gandalf resumed his tale, “the illness destroyed much of Dale. When it was clear that the city was becoming overwhelmed, Dain asked for volunteers to go and assist. Few would, and Dain was angry that so many would abandon their allies when in need. He called upon Thorn’s company to see if they would assist, and they declared that they would; Dis accompanied them as representative of Thorin and her sons. They say that even Dain himself, disgusted by his council’s decision, went as well.

            “Now, again, Dwarrow are not normally affected by diseases of men and so little was thought of precautions. However, once a few Dwarrow got sick and the sickness spread to the Dwarflings, it spread like fire through the mountain. In the end, just less than three hundred died, but over a quarter of those were children. And because of their early involvement, Thorin’s company didn’t come out of the plague unscathed. Along with Dis – Bifur and Dori passed on as well.”

            Bilbo couldn’t take it and the unshed tears for Dis, still shining in his eyes, finally fell for his friends. Beautiful strong Dis was gone, Bifur who had become a sweet and dear friend during the quest and Dori, the fussy Dwarf so much like Bilbo that the others would laugh and joke that the two must have separated at birth, were both gone from the world. And not in any way they would have wanted to go – not honorably on the battlefield or surrounded by family after a long life, but due to an illness of Men that shouldn’t have affected them.

            “Dain of course, was beside himself,” Gandalf said. “He blamed himself for the death of Dis and the others and his council urged him to close the mountain and bar outsiders from entering. Sadly, it was a case of closing the barn doors after the ponies were gone.”

            “It wasn’t Dain’s fault,” Bilbo said. He couldn’t really believe he just said it but it was true. No one could have seen this coming. “Even if Thorin had lived, he and his company would have rush to the aid of Dale and the results would have been the same.”           

            “I agree,” Gandalf added. “However, this all lead to an even worse situation.”

            Bilbo couldn’t imagine it getting worse. “What do you mean?”

            “As always when children pass, parents tend to want to blame someone for the death, even if that blame is unrealistic or unfounded. In the case of Erebor, many shifted the fault onto Dale and the race of Men.”

            “That’s just as ridiculous as Dain blaming himself.”

            “There were those that did blame him too. In fact, calls to cut all ties with the other races and for a change in leadership began to spring up all over the Lonely Mountain.

            “Bilbo, the Dwarfs of Erebor are facing a civil war.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Don't dally in the daisies" is a Hobbit proverb meaning "don't waste time" and was popular in and around Hobbiton. In some parts of the shire the saying goes "Don't dally in the garden." However, in the most populated areas, the phrase is "Don't dally with the Dill" as in the herb, as it is best to use right away and fresh. Over the centuries this will turn into what know today - to "Dilly-dally" is to waste time.  
> *** this is totally my own head-canon ***


	8. Family - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explanations and the Nameless Fear

 

            Bilbo was stunned. _This can’t be right – how had it come to this? Erebor in a possible civil war?_ This was worse than a dragon – it was a beast within the mountain itself. A beast that couldn’t clearly be seen; how does one fight that?

            “I just don’t understand, Gandalf,” Bilbo said in a flat, dazed voice.

            “Believe me my friend,” the wizard replied, “I think very few could say they truly understand what has happened.”

            “What _did_ happen?”

            “It was one of Thorin’s own that began the divide.”

            “Oh, Gandalf, you must be mistaken.”

            “No – in this I am sadly certain.”

            Bilbo couldn’t believe it. “After all that Thorin fought for – after the sacrifice of his life and his nephews, you are now telling me that it was one of Thorin’s company that has brought this upon Erebor?”

            Gandalf said no more, neither shook his head nor nodded – simply looked at Bilbo, waiting for the question he was sure the Hobbit was working towards.

            “This is nonsense, Gandalf,” Bilbo shook his head like a horse shooing flies. “What you are saying sounds like a fairy story – some tall tale to tell around a camp fire. I’m shocked. I just can’t accept it.”

            “It’s discouraging,” Gandalf said quietly, lighting his pipe with his finger, “how many are shocked by honesty and so few by deceit.”

            Bilbo’s mind was once again whirling in thought and could only come up with blank solutions. “Just who could so easily toss away what Thorin died for?”

            There was the question the wizard had been waiting for.

            “Balin.”

            Bilbo’s gasped at the name. “You have gone mad! I just – I just, can’t – what in the name of Mahal – how, just _how,_ could Balin do this?”

            “From what I gather,” Gandalf said from behind a cloud of blue smoke, “once the members of the company passed, he was one of the most vocal about blaming the race of Men, calling for cutting ties with outsiders and blaming Dain for the spread of the illness within the mountain.”

            Bilbo could only shake his head in denial. “That doesn’t sound like the Balin I know.”

            “Indeed,” Gandalf added, “time has not been kind to Balin. Not only has he whipped into a froth those parents who blame Men for the death of their children but he has, apparently, convinced a number of them to go with him, retake Moria and start a new settlement of their own.”

            “Moria?!” Even Bilbo was aware of the folly that was Khazad-dûm.

            One night in Mirkwood, as Thorin and Bilbo snuggled close for warmth, the poisoned darkness closed in and Thorin’s heart filled with painful, frightening memories; he confessed, in tearful whispers, the horrors he witnessed at the Battle of Azanulbizar. Bilbo had done what he could to sooth the Dwarf – wiped his tears, caressed his face, anything to assure him he was safe; all the while his heart breaking as Thorin shook and shivered with fear and regret. The next day, as Bilbo walked beside Thorin and Dwalin, both king and warrior agreed that if they could, they would pull the mountain itself down on Khazad-dûm and seal ‘the black pit’ forever.

            But what was truly unbelievable was that Balin had been near by and had agreed with them! He too was a veteran of that battle; he too had lost family along with Dwalin. How could Balin even consider, not just retaking Moria, but to bring along families and settle there!

            “What would drive him to something so reckless?”

            “What lives in Balin’s heart, I cannot say,” Gandalf looked resigned. “I only know that since his removal as advisor – because of his constant opposition to Dain’s decisions, he has grown more and more distant. This plague seems to have pushed our old friend to his limits and along with the death of Dis, Bifur and Dori; he has used the situation to call for cutting all ties with other races.

            “Naturally this was refused and from what I gathered, Dain attempted to reason with Balin and dissuade him from even attempting resettlement of Moria but in the end, Balin and the rest decided to leave.

            “Sadly, he does not go alone.”

            “All those families. Have they any idea what lays in wait for them?”

            “It is not just the families I speak of, Bilbo.”

            “Who else is going?”

            “Oin and Ori are leaving with him.”

            Bilbo was not so surprised about Oin, per say. Not that he saw the healer as someone to walk away from Erebor or his brother, but Bilbo couldn’t necessarily think of anything that would hold Oin there – no wife, husband or children. But Ori? Now that was completely unexpected. Bilbo couldn’t have been more surprised if Gandalf had said that Dain was giving up the crown and following Balin instead.

            “So,” Bilbo said, after deep breath, sighs and crossed his legs. “That means Balin, Oin, Ori and Dwalin are going to Moria.”

            “No, Bilbo,” Gandalf added gravely. “Dwalin is not going.”

            “But he is Balin’s brother? They are so close. And Ori is his husband! Are you telling me he is just going to let them go off to Moria?”

            “Dwalin does not share the same views as his brother or Ori. And there is no more marriage – they have broken their contract.”

            If there was one thing that Thorin explained to him, it was the seriousness of the Dwarrow marriage contracts. It was more than just vows, like Hobbits, Men or Elves. These contracts were treated as much like business arrangements and breaking the contract entailed showing a breach in the contract on one or the others part.

            “What were the grounds for breaking it?”

            “Since Dori’s death, Ori has become rather unpredictable and contrary in his nature and Dwalin, while always supportive, was not the anchor that Dori was. Dwalin basically told his husband that he was being foolish to listen to Balin’s talk of retaking Moria and Ori – well, Ori did something unforgivable.”

            “Don’t tell me he was unfaithful – I won’t believe it no matter what evidence you may have.”

            “No, he was not so much _unfaithful_ , but rather _faithless_. When Dwalin refused to go to Moria, Ori publicly accused him of being a coward.”

            Bilbo groaned at the thought. To accuse any Dwarf of being a coward was tantamount to declaring a duel to the death. But for Ori to accuse Dwalin, of all people, of cowardice and to do so publicly was horrific. “Please tell me there was no duel called.”

            “No, but,” Gandalf said quietly, “From all accounts, Dwalin was devastated. He offered Ori the option of ending their marriage and Ori agreed to it. As I said, Ori is not the same – he has not been thinking clearly, and Dwalin would not fight him. And of course, there is Dwalin’s oath to the crown; Dwalin could not leave if he wanted to.”

            “Well, I am sure Dain would release him, if Dwalin really desired it.”

            “Of that I have no doubt – but Bilbo remember, this oath is not to the king but to the _kingdom_. Even if Dain did release Dwalin, the Dwarrow would view Dwalin as a pariah of society. And while Balin would accept his brother, the Dwarrow going to Moria would still view Dwalin as disloyal, unworthy and a Dwarf without honor.

            “The only way to be released from an oath to the crown is death – to walk away, even if released by the king, would be equal to self-imposed exile.”

            Bilbo just couldn’t think on it anymore. It was too much to take in and frankly, he wasn’t sure he had the strength. The day has quickly becoming a metaphor of his quest – it started out calm, with no hint of what lay ahead and by the time it was over, the world was set on its ear and nothing seems as if it would be right again.

            “I just can’t believe Balin,” Bilbo finally says. “I just can’t figure him out.”  Bilbo made to get up now that he felt the conversation was at an end.

            Gandalf take one last puff on his pipe before emptying the ashes into the hearth. His tea is now cold but he drinks the last of it before speaking. “I sure if you are truly curious, Thorin could answer that question.”

            Bilbo froze for a moment, trying to breathe normally. _There is no way he can know. He must mean it metaphorically._ Bilbo relaxed his shoulders an uncrossed his legs before turning to look in Gandalf’s direction. “True. Besides Dwalin, Thorin knew him longest. If he lived I am sure he would know better than anyone Balin’s motivations.”

            “You should ask him sometime,” Gandalf said, almost under his breath and did not meet Bilbo’s gaze.

            Bilbo tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible. He was consciously aware of his breathing and quickly thought about what the wizard could know. Could Gandalf see Thorin? Could the wizard only feel or be aware of Thorin’s presence through some extra sense? Of course the bigger question was, regardless of how, if Gandalf knew of Thorin, how long had he been aware and not said anything? Bilbo half considered that perhaps Gandalf was joking – but he highly doubted that; the wizard’s jokes were almost never pure mirth but usually a pretense to hide a more potent truth.

            In the end, Bilbo wasn’t going to give anything away. “I am not sure what you mean by that Gandalf?” Bilbo’s voice was even and controlled. At least he hoped it was.

            “Let us not twist words, as you say,” Gandalf answered lazily, his sharp eyes focusing on Bilbo intensely. “Thorin’s spirit has been hovering near you since I arrived, and, unless I am very much mistaken – which I rarely am, he has been here for several years now – at least he has been the last few times I have visited.”

            Bilbo stood up very sudden and reached for the tea cups. “I think you _are_ mistaken and having a laugh at my expense – certainly at the expense of my heart.” Bilbo turned and made for the kitchen.

            “My apologies, old friend,” Gandalf said with no trace of guilt or shame. “I have no wish to injury you. But then you have never lied to me.”

            “What are you implying?” Bilbo came back into the parlour and stood there with his hands on his hips; he tried to sound and look indigent at Gandalf’s words but he failed completely.

            “One could lie about many things, Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf said, his ire rising as he stood up. “But the truth is not one of them.”

            With a speed unparalleled, Gandalf spun around, threw out his hand so that his staff, which was leaning innoxiously against the entry wall, flew across the space and came to Gandalf in a flash. Spinning like a whirlwind, Gandalf raised the staff above his head and brought it down towards Bilbo like a club. Bilbo had no time to react beyond raising his hands to shield himself from what was sure to be a mighty blow and cry out in fright.

            However, as fast as the staff slashed through the air, Thorin materialized before Bilbo and raised his ghostly sword which stuck the staff with a hollow, reverberating sound and blocked the staff from completing his downward arch.

            “You would dare,” Thorin growled out, his rage clear on his voice, “to attack Bilbo in his own home?!”

            “My apologies, Bilbo,” Gandalf said, his hard, piercing gaze never leaving Thorin’s face, “I meant you no harm and I assure you no harm would have come to you, but I wanted to provoke this spirit into showing itself to me.”

            “You could have just asked!” Bilbo heaved out the words, his breaths heavy but ragged as he attempted to calm himself and keep from fainting.

            “I could not get you to acknowledge its existence – I doubt asking would have done any better.”

            Thorin anger was growing. “You will refer to me by name, Tharkûn! I am no ‘it’ or mindless shade!”

            “Indeed,” Gandalf answered, clearly not amused or pleased. “And how is your return even possible, Son of Thrain?”

            “What does it matter?” Thorin growled out.

            “Echoes of my own words long past, spat back at me,” Gandalf said. “I will therefore answer in kind, Thorin – It matters! I want to know!”

            “We owe no explanation to you, wizard!” Thorin snarled.

            “I am sad to see that the passage of time in the echoing halls of your forefathers has not changed you for the better, Thorin Oakenshield!”

            “It is not I that needs to change, you meddling old man!”

            Bilbo rushed forward and placed himself between the others, his hands outstretched. “Please! Please. Let’s all just calm down and talk like rational beings. Aren’t we all far beyond these sorts of things?”

            Slowly, almost painfully, Gandalf and Thorin lowered their weapons until they were by their sides; Thorin sheathing his sword. Bilbo finally was able to catch his breath and retook his seat by the fire. Thorin stood next to Bilbo’s chair but his eyes would not leave Gandalf, nor did his hand leave the hilt of his sword. Gandalf also sat back down, keeping his staff in a firm grip.

            Finally, Bilbo took a deep breath and started the conversation. “It was I that brought forth Thorin.”

            “Impossible,” Gandalf said, evenly.

            “First you attack him and now you call Bilbo a liar!” Thorin thundered and stepped forward as if in challenge to the wizard.

            “Thorin – please,” Bilbo quietly pleaded as he laid a gentle hand on the ghost’s forearm which settled Thorin immediately.

            Thorin turned his gaze to Bilbo. “My apologies, âzyungel,” he said quietly. “But I will not tolerate your honesty being call into question.”

            “It is not a question of lying, Thorin,” Gandalf groused out, “but more that Bilbo is mistaken in his assumptions.”

            “And what would you know of it?” Thorin sneered.

            “Far more than you may think, know or believe,” Gandalf replied.

            Thorin took a step forward and looked to start the arguments anew, but Bilbo again pulled him back. “Thorin – please let me just explain to Gandalf and we can move forward.”

            Thorin inclined his head and gave Bilbo a quick nod before stepping back beside him. However, Thorin continued to glower darkly at the wizard.

            Bilbo took a slow, deep breath. “The night before we left Erebor, I went to visit Thorin’s tomb.”

            “Is that when you added the runes to Thorin’s marker?” Gandalf asked; almost amused when Bilbo’s jaw dropped. “Were you under the impression that I would not return to Erebor afterwards? Or fail to notice the runes, even when there was no moonlight to illuminate them?”

            Bilbo recovered as quickly as he could. “With all due respect – you did miss them on Thorin’s map.”

            “A wizard rarely makes the same mistake twice, my friend,” Gandalf said, with a tinkle in his eye.

            “Yes, well,” Bilbo said, “you’re right, I did place them there at that time and when – when I was writing them, I was – well – I was crying at the time.” Bilbo looked down to his lap but turned his head slightly towards Thorin as he placed a comforting hand on Bilbo’s shoulder.

            “Of course you were,” Gandalf added gently.

            “Anyway,” Bilbo cleared his throat and continued. “Some of my tears – uhm – well; they fell onto the runes before they could dry. Thorin said that the runes had a magic of their own and we figured that because of my tears and my emotional state and the runes that, somehow, I had – tied or summoned Thorin’s spirit to me.”

            “I can see where you would get that impression, Bilbo,” Gandalf replied. “But tell me; are you also under the impression that these runes are only visible during the mid-winter month?”

            Bilbo was confused. “Of course. I placed them there during the full moon at mid-winter. They shouldn’t be able to be seen any other time.”

            Gandalf looked like he was going to laugh. “And did Thorin teach you the method of writing and the incantations required to make that possible?”

            Bilbo and Thorin exchanged looks before Thorin spoke. “What nonsense is this? I was dead; how I could I teach him anything? Besides, he needed no special lessons to copy rune that Ori wrote out for him.”

            “On the contrary,” Gandalf said with a small smile, “unless someone showed him the precise method and the incantations needed to write them, the moon runes Bilbo wrote are visible at any time moonlight shines on your marker.

            “Bilbo, my dear boy, moon runes do have a magic of their own but it is nothing more powerful than to make them simply unseen unless a specific shape of moon or a particular seasonal moon, hangs in the sky. And this requires not only incantations but a special method of writing them. So unless you were taught, by someone with that knowledge, and Thorin wouldn’t be one of those people – only a scribe would know, then your runes are visible at any time that any shape moon, shines upon Thorin’s tomb marker.

            “Am I safe in assuming that Ori did not teach you such things?”

            Bilbo could only shake his head in the negative. Ori never even mentioned having to write a special way or spells to him at the time. Gandalf seemed to know what was going through Bilbo’s head.

            “I serious doubt,” Gandalf said, “that even Ori knows about writing moon runes to begin with. They are not used anymore and very few scribes even know how to create them now.”

            “Then how is it,” Thorin asked, now as confused as Bilbo, “that I was only able to come back at mid-winter on a full moon?”

            “It is not mid-winter at present, nor is there a full moon,” Gandalf countered. “How are you here now?”

            “Over the years I have gotten stronger and have been able to come forth whenever I want. In fact, as of the last several years, I never leave.”

            “I see,” Gandalf seemed to contemplate before going on. “Now you said something about “tied” – what did you mean by that Bilbo?”

            “In the beginning, Thorin said he was tied to my emotions,” Bilbo answered. He now held hands with Thorin. “He told me that what I felt, he felt.”

            “Is this still the case?” Gandalf looked to Thorin for an answer.

            “No,” Thorin had calmed and was now kneeling next to Bilbo’s chair. “I still feel his emotions, I am just not tied or confined by them. However over the years what I feel and think can influence Bilbo’s emotions, especially when he is sleeping or getting tired.”

            Gandalf took out his pipe, filled it and lit it with his finger. The bluish smoke filled the air and drifted around him until it seemed to circle his head like an ill formed halo. The wizard took no notice and only stared into the fire. Occasionally he twisted his mouth on one side or the other, clearly lost in his thoughts and would sometimes mutter something that Bilbo or Thorin could barely hear, let alone make out what was said.

            Bilbo was about to speak when Gandalf beat him to the punch.

            “You both share a bond that is extraordinary,” Gandalf said, turning to look at the other two. “In all my long years, never once I have seen such a bond and that is saying something. In fact, if I were to tell you that I felt something between you both from the first moment you set eyes on each other, I have no doubt you would believe me – you do not need to tell me that you felt it yourselves all those years ago. However, despite this connection, your tears in no way played a part in Thorin’s return. Nor do I need to, at this point, tell you that the moon runes are meaningless in this as well.

            “Couple all that information with the simply fact that Thorin is no mere shade as he put it. Very few shades exist and of those few I have witnessed, all of them were only echoes of the beings that left them behind. Truly, Thorin is beyond even a simple ghost or spirit.

            “As pained as I am to say this – for say this I must, unless Hobbits or Dwarrow have magic that has been held in secret from the Istari, there has only ever been one being that has had the power to summon the dead in this manner.”

            Bilbo felt a chill run down his spine. He could not, _would not_ , believe what Gandalf was implying.

            Thorin clearly felt the same way. “You are wrong! I have no feeling of evil!”

            “You must be mistaken, Gandalf,” Bilbo said, the plea obvious in his voice.

            “I do not believe myself,” the wizard said, “that Thorin is controlled by Sauron or any dark force. No servant of evil would ever have defended or protected you the way that he did today. And no Dwarf has ever succumbed to The Dark Lord’s will – even the Dwarf-lords that held the Dwarrow Rings of Power did not fall. At most the rings amplified their lust for gold, but they did not turn; and Thorin never had the last free ring – that was owned by his father and was stolen before Thorin could possess it.”

            “Then how did this come to pass?” Bilbo asked. He was confused because it sounded like Gandalf was talking in circles. “And how is that in the beginning he could only appear at the full-moon at mid-winter?”

            “As to the second question,” Gandalf answered, “I believe that it was you that had that control.”

            “Me?!” Bilbo turned to look at Thorin, who had no more idea than his Hobbit. “But I am not magical!”

            “No, you are not,” Gandalf agreed. “But you said he was tied to your emotions and you believed that the runes only illuminated at the full moon at mid-winter. It would be obvious that at that time you would naturally think of Thorin and whether you were conscious of it or not, you brought him forth.”

            “But you just said that Bilbo had no magic abilities!” Thorin stated. “How could he bring me forth?”

            “I believe if we could answer his first question,” Gandalf replied, “then that would lead to the answer of the second. It is clear that his bond to you would be stronger at that time and whatever power gave you the strength to appear, was feed by that bond. Why else would you have been tied to his emotions so strongly?

            “And I think it is safe to say that as time has gone on, that power has grown to where you no longer need your connection to come forth – how else do we explain your ability in the last several years to come at will, at anytime of the year, at your leisure? In fact, as you say – never leave?”

            Bilbo felt the chill again. He did not want to believe that his love – however absurd the thought, might be tied to The Dark Lord, Sauron the Deceiver, The Lord of The Rings.   He felt sick to his stomach and for once in his life was glad it was empty.

            Sadly, Gandalf only made it worse. “Since purged from Dol Guldur, Sauron has been slowly gaining strength all these years. He is not strong enough to neither leave his lair nor wage war on Middle-Earth, but it is only a matter of time. I fear, Thorin, Son of Thrain, that your existence as it is now is somehow tied to his growing power. How is it tied? I cannot say for sure at present.”

            Silence filled the parlour and long minutes no one said a word. Bilbo could only stare at the fire; his mind blank of anything to say. He did not like what Gandalf had presented but he could not argue with it. Looking back on it, he had to admit, it was laughable that he had convinced himself that he alone had summoned Thorin back from the dead; that somehow, with a few tears and mithril ink, he had done what only The Dark Lord had the power to do.

            Foolish Hobbit indeed.

            But of course, he worried now. Would Thorin be taken by Sauron? Would The Lord of Mordor corrupt and twist his king into something dark and unnatural? Would he lose his true love to darkness, never to be seen even in the afterlife?

            Tears formed and as they sketched their marks down his cheeks, he felt Thorin’s gentle touch on his chin to turn his face towards him.

            “Oh, âzyungel,” Thorin’s voice was soft like a whispered breeze, “I feel what you feel and I beg you not to despair. I will not fall to darkness, nor will I let it control me if it be behind this. I would rather destroy myself than bring harm to you.”

            Bilbo could only cry harder. “But that is just my fear – that you will be forever lost to me.” Bilbo could no longer hold back and he dissolved into sobs as Thorin embraced him.

            At Bilbo’s distress, Gandalf came and knelt in front of him. Gandalf took on of Bilbo’s small hands in his own. “I know it seems dark and this was not what you wanted to hear. But, I must assure you, that I highly doubt your fears will come to pass, Bilbo. I will try and discern the nature of Thorin’s return and I hope that the next time I return, I will be able to offer you the proof you need. Fear not.”

            Gandalf stood and made to go.

            “Are you going already?” Bilbo said, looking up. “You only got here a bit ago.”

            “I am sorry, my dear Hobbit,” Gandalf said, striding to the door and putting on his hat. “I had pressing matters to attend to before I stopped; I only come by to offer you news of Erebor. I see now that I have another task to perform as well.” With that, the wizard swept out the door and was gone.

            “Let it not be said,” Thorin quipped dryly, “that his visits border on the uneventful.”

            That made Bilbo giggle a little and his tears finally stop flowing. For a long while, Thorin stayed wrapped around his Hobbit and Bilbo felt protected and safe.

            “Come, my love,” Thorin said finally. “Why not lie down and rest. You have had enough shocks for the day and I wish to sooth you awhile.”

            Bilbo only nodded and allowed Thorn to lead him to the bedroom. For an hour or so, Thorin caressed and kissed his way over Bilbo’s body until finally sleep was about to claim him. Bilbo curled on his side with Thorin behind, holding him.

            Bilbo thought of his love as he drifted off to sleep and was not aware when Thorin whispered, “And I love you as well, sanâzyung,” to Bilbo’s unspoken declaration.        

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            As expected, Frodo arrived home just before dinner. Bilbo told him nothing of what Gandalf had said about Erebor and of course, Frodo was totally unaware of Thorin’s presence. Bilbo had had a good rest and was determined to get back to the business of living. He would wait until Gandalf told him anything else and decided that if Gandalf and Thorin were not concerned, than he would not be either.

            It was between dinner and supper that Bilbo realized that he had never opened his letter and was surprised, to say the least, when he found out it was from Dain. Right from the start, Dain apologized for the news he was to depart and then confirmed all that Gandalf had told him earlier. He extended his condolences for the loss of Dis, Bifur and Dori and apologized that he had not kept up correspondence with Bilbo. What was truly amazing was that Dain also apologized for not extending a invitation to Bilbo to return to Erebor before now and stated further that Thorin would take him to task had he known that Dain had been so remiss. Of course, Dain had no way of knowing that Thorin was indeed aware of his oversight but Bilbo was humbled that Dain had written to him personally at all. When all was said and done, Bilbo was happy with the letter and while Dain did state that there was much unrest at present and he did urge Bilbo not return yet, he did finish his letter with the hope that in the future, they too could become better acquaintances and he hoped that Bilbo would know that he was welcome in Erebor, not just as the Dwarf-friend he was, not just as a member of Thorin’s company nor as Thorin’s beloved, but as someone that Dain would gladly consider family.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> âzyungel – love of loves  
> sanâzyung – perfect love  
> Tharkûn – Dwarrow’s name for Gandalf (as Mithrandir is to the Elves)
> 
> \------------
> 
> There is little about moon-runes but while it does say you can read them by any moonlight you can also make them readable only by a certain moon at a certain time. IT IS TOTALLY MY HEAD CANON ABOUT THE INCANTATIONS:  
> http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Moon-letters 
> 
> \------------
> 
> “It’s discouraging how many are shocked by honesty and so few by deceit.” This is a quote by Noel Coward from his play _Blithe Spirit_.


	9. Echoes from The Black Chasm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They went to Moria to reclaim their past - But in the end, even their echoes were lost to history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to The Lord Of The Rings WIKI for the awesome art found in this chapter.
> 
> \------------
> 
> As fellow writer, JOANERZ, figured out - this chapter was inspired by Chapter Eight in the wonderful fanfic, Sansûkh by determamfidd. If you haven't read it then you are missing out!!

****

 

Shortly after the Elves woke in the world, so did the Dwarrow. Durin the Deathless, the first of the Seven Fathers of the Dwarfs to wake in Mount Gundabad, traveled Middle-earth in search of a home for his folk. He came upon a beautiful valley he called Azanulbizar, which held a shimmering lake. As Durin looked into the mirror-like waters of the lake he saw reflected there a crown with seven stars. He called the lake Kheled-zaram or Glass Lake and took the vision of the crown as a sign. Therefore it was in the caves above the lake that Durin decided to build a home for his folk.

            Men called the Dwarf kingdom _Dwarrowdelf_ , the Elves named it _Hadhodrond,_ but to the Dwarrow, it was **_Khazad-dûm – The Delving of the Dwarfs._**

            The Dwarfs formed alliances with the Elves and Men and lived together in peace. And while all the mountain halls of the seven clans of Dwarrow offered much in the way of stone, gems and ore, Khazad-dûm’s greatest offering was mithril.

            Now, peace reined between the races, until the first coming of Sauron, the Deceiver. He conquered much of the land and drove out the Elves, while the Dwarrow were forced to retreat into Khazad-dûm. They sealed the great western doors and there secluded themselves to the outside world.

            It was during this seclusion and isolation that Orcs were able to move into the MistyMountains, overrun and occupy MountGundabad and infest the area around Khazad-dûm.

            Finally, the Dwarfs ended their seclusion with the call of the Last Alliance and they joined the Elves and Men to march upon Mordor and defeat of The Dark Lord, Sauron.

            After victory, the Dwarrow returned to Khazad-dûm, but their delving went too deep and to greedily. They unearthed a great servant of the Valar Melkor, later known as Morgoth. This beast, a nameless Balrog, wrecked havoc and death, forcing the Dwarrow to abandon their kingdom; Khazad-dûm was lost.

            As the city lay in darkness, Orcs proceeded to enter and infest the once great Dwarf kingdom and for centuries Khazad-dûm remained solely in the hands of evil. During this time, the Elves renamed it for what it has become: **_Moria._**

In Sindarin, Moria had multitudes of meaning. The Black Chasm, The Black Pit, The Abyss, The Dark Void. All were appropriate.

It was almost nine hundred years later that the Armies of Orcs and Dwarrow fought the final battle in the War of the Dwarves and Orcs, The Battle of Azanulbizar, at the Eastern Gate of Moria. While the Orc numbers were greatly reduced and the Dwarrow were victorious against their armies, Durin’s folk could not defeat the Balrog, and the kingdom remained lost.

            Durin’s Folk have also been driven out of Erebor by the dragon Smaug and unable to retake and repopulate Moria, they wandered East and finally settled in the Blue Mountains, not far from The Shire.

            And so it was, that in 2941 of the Third Age, the King of Durin’s Folk, the Longbeards, decided to reclaim Erebor. With his company of thirteen Dwarrow and a Hobbit, they trekked across the Misty Mountains; they were successful in retaking Erebor.

            So when illness and disaster struck Erebor, a small group of Dwarrow decided that the time had come to reclaim Khazad-dûm. Lead by Balin, son of Fundin, they left Erebor in 2990 and did indeed wrestle back control of the kingdom from the Orcs.

            For a brief time, the colony thrived. But in 2994, only a few short years later – it all came to ruin once more.

 

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

****

**BALIN**

            _How did it come to this?_

_It had started with a dream – a dream to take back that which was lost; all that had been ours, that had been great, that which was our right to have. To achieve that which others said was impossible, and to rise above all that time and others had done to us._

_Now, it’s but a nightmare._

_Once more, I have failed._

_Oh father, forgive me – I brought them all to ruin and I did so in our name. I never meant to bring you shame. When I lost you at The_ _Battle_ _of Azanulbizar, I swore then, that if ever possible, I would seize the chance to take back Khazad-dûm so that your death would not have been in vain. So that future generations would know what you sacrificed your life for. So that your name would resound through the ages; this I would do for you._

_And yet, here I lie, dying with nothing to show for it but disgrace and the deaths of those foolish enough to follow me._

_So convinced was I in my self-righteousness, I turned my back on those that I had called ally, that I had called friend. And even worse, not just friends, but on my own blood as well._

_Dwalin. I should have listened to you brother. I should have paid heed to your warnings and not turned aside from your wisdom. And now, as testament to my mistake, you are not with me at the end so that I can tell you that you were right – this was nothing but madness and folly. Then again, I am glad that you will not meet your end in this woeful place._

_Oh how sorry I am, brother-mine. I took from you that which you cherished most in the world. How ironic, or maybe poetic, that I now die alone and in pain, just as I left you alone and hurting, while your treasure followed me to this abyss and will now die here because of me. Poor Ori will die apart from you and your love and it is my fault._

_I deserve this fate._

_Ori, forgive me. I had only wished to honor Dori and protect you as he asked me to – but in my blindness, I failed to see that you were most protected while you stood by my brother._

_I have failed the three people I loved most in all the world – you, my brother and Dori._

_Dori. My sweet Dori. My only comfort – if it can be called that – is that you passed on before me and did not live to see what has come to pass. I failed you miserably, my love, my One. I can only beg and pray that if I am so blessed, I will see you in the Halls and you will not only forgive but, perhaps understand._

_When you died, I didn’t want to go on – so long did we both wait to find our One, so long we did not see the truth in each other’s eyes. We had only a few short years together and then you were taken from me. My heart broke and in its poisonous rage its venom knew no bounds; I blamed anyone and everyone for your death._

_Oh, my lovely Dori. How we had laughed that we found the Spring of Love in the Winter of our lives._

_I still recall the warmth of your touch, the timber of your voice, the pure joy of your laughter. You were everything I had ever hoped or dreamed of. No Dwarf could have asked for a better companion, a truer partner, a more perfect lover, than that which I found in you._

_As my eyes dim, I can still envision us our quiet solitude – or as Nori would tease, our “boring bliss.” You in your chair by the fire, knitting away and clucking that Ori wasn’t eating enough, or fussing that I worked too much, or worrying over Nori or even stranger, but somehow more endearing, when you huffed that Dwalin should take it easier and not put himself in harm’s way as he was want to do. Oh my sweet, you have no idea how I wish that I could go back in time and be there now with you – sitting across from you in my chair, reading the minutes from the council and just enjoying the crackle of the fire, the sweet smells from the kitchen and hear your voice, just once more, telling me that you love me._

_Wait – Dori?_

_Dori, is that you?_

_Yes! Yes, love, I can hear you._

_Oh, my love – forgive me. I beg you – forgive me!_

_Yes, my sweet – Yes, I understand._

_It’s time – it’s time._

_I’m letting go._

_I’m coming._

 

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

**OIN**

           

            _We should never have come here! We should have stayed in Erebor!_

The small group of Dwarfs was running, running for their freedom, running for their lives. It felt like they had run all their lives from the screaming hordes that chased them through ancient halls, past soaring columns, and pursued them towards the only way out that still remained free.

            _By the Gods – I hope it is still free!_

            They had to leave the others behind and Oin was sorry for that, more sorry than he could express. He had promised Lord Balin, before the Dwarf-lord slipped into unconsciousness that he would watch and care for Ori – make sure the boy stayed safe.

            But it wasn’t to be.

            They had been a tight group but the Orcs were too much, too many. They crawled up from the depths and down from the ceiling like so many roaches coming to feast on the dead. In all the chaos and fighting, they had split up. Now there were two groups – one running and another left behind. Left behind to do what, no one could say but Oin, Floi and Nali and those few with them knew that the chances of survival for the others was slim to none.

            _Ori, please forgive me for not protecting you. I fear I have not only let you down but Lord Balin, your brother and your husband. By Mahal, if I make it out of here, Dwalin will kill me for sure!_

Oin could hear Nali crying as he ran beside him. _Oin couldn't blame him or anyone and let him cry. I would be the last one to tell him, no. If I could, I would cry with you._

            Oin had done his crying back in Erebor. It had been his crying that brought him here. It had been the one death he couldn’t prevent that had sent him over the edge.

            _Poor Bifur. I had saved you all those years ago, after Azanulbizar – you were the greatest friend I ever had and in the end, I couldn’t even save you from a simple illness of Men! Of all the things to end your life – some disease! Well, I still think it was the damn Men’s fault! Filthy beings, no sense of cleanliness, no care for others!   We would have been better to stay in Erebor and just cut ties and be done with it! If Dain had done that in the first place than you would still be alive my friend! You would still be there for me to talk to, play chess with – someone who understood me!_

_But no, like everything else in this world, along comes another race and they take away what is treasured and precious to us. The Men with their diseases and the Elves with their tricks! The only being outside of Dwarrow that I ever gave a lick for Bilbo Baggins. Now there was a being to call Dwarf-friend if I ever saw one! If only the world were filled with more like Bilbo – none of this would have happened at all! If there was more like Bilbo, you would still be here Bifur – I would still have you as my friend!_

            There! Yes there is was – the Western Door!

            The screeching was getting closer. Sadly, Nali’s crying comes to an abrupt halt when an arrow comes out through his forehead and he falls dead before he ever hits the ground. Floi is out front and he screams the password and he, Oin and two other’s that Oin cannot name rush out into the dark of night.

            One of the unnamed Dwarfs turns to fire an arrow at the closing Orcs, but it is in vain. It was all in vain.

            There is an explosion of water and suddenly all four dwarfs are lifted off their feet. Oin only has time to look down at the horror that emerges from the lake with a gapping mouth before he is falling towards it. Only one thing passes through his mind.

            _We should never have come!_

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

**ORI**

 

            “Ori! What are you doing?!” Loni screamed, his fear obvious.

            “I’m coming! Give me a minute!” Ori yelled back.

            “Stop messing with that damn book!” Frar shouted. “We have to shore up this door!”

            “Just give me a fucking minute!” Ori would not be deterred. He slipped the envelope into the pocket of the back cover and then set his book down by Balin’s tomb.

            He rushed over and helped the other two reinforce the chamber door.

            “That should buy us some time.” Loni says, not truly believing what he said.

            Ori retreated back to this book and began to scribble as furiously as possible. He would not leave his mission undone. Even if it means death, he would leave a record for anyone that may come after – so that even in death, it will not have been vain. But then so much already has been in vain.

            Balin had died a slow and painful death from the Orc poison. He had forced Oin to promise to watch out for and care for Ori, but Ori knew that it would come to an empty promise. Finally, Balin began crying and begging Ori to forgive him and calling for Dori before he finally slipped into unconsciousness.

            Poor Balin.

            Ori knew that he blamed himself for Ori’s fate but really, Ori knew that his fate was his own. There was one person to blame and that was the Dwarf that stared back at him in the mirror. He had been so taken by grief and blinded by what he perceived as slights. He had been so cruel and hateful. He had heard there were stages to grief and death but Ori hadn’t believed any of that – at least he didn’t. He thought his anger at Dori’s death as normal and that Dwalin had just – well, it didn’t matter now.

            No matter what Balin said, Ori knew he had followed him of his own free will. It was just sad that now here at the end that Ori realized that his will had been driven by anger, fear, dread, pain, even love but not in a good way.

            “Do you think the others made it out?” One of the young ones asked, Ori couldn’t remember his name and frankly, didn’t care at that moment.

            “I hope someone did,” Loni said, softly.

            “It won’t be us – that’s for sure,” Frar had already given up.

            Ori scribbled away. He could feel time slipping away from them.

            Suddenly there was a growing hurricane of screeching and screams and they all knew – the time had come. They all readied their weapons. Ori wanted to laugh, four dwarrow against hundreds – _Dwalin would think it great odds._

            Dwalin. Ori wanted to cry but felt he didn’t deserve to shed tears for his lost warrior. _He deserved better than me. He always did._

            “HERE THEY COME!” Loni Screamed.

            The chamber doors blew inwards and there was nothing but a flood of Orcs. There were screams and yells and curses and just as Ori signed his name, two arrows pierced him and he could do nothing more but close the book.

            As his life ebbed away, there was no Dwarf left alive to hear that last word on his lips.

            “Dwalin.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moria – From Sindarin, mor ("black, dark") and iâ ("void, abyss") 
> 
> According to Tolkien canon, Dwarfs did march with the last alliance and assisted with the defeat of Sauron. In fact, the great sword of Men, Narsil was forged by the great Dwarf weaponsmith, Telchar in the First Age.
> 
> If one does the research, you will find where in Moria the named Dwarfs died. While I have tried to stick to canon when I could, in the case of this chapter, I played lose with Floi, Nali, Loni and Frar for dramatic purposes.


	10. The Road Goes Ever On and On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to say good-bye

 

* * *

 

 

**_09/22/3001_ **

 

            He had so much to do! Not the least of which was packing. He had been making lists, checking maps, preparing provisions, for the last few months. He knew he could only take what he could carry on his back, so taking half the house was out of the question. Even taking too many clothes was impractical. No, it would be two change of clothes, packages of dried fruit and nuts, cured and dried meat, one small pan, a flint, one eating utensil (a spoon), and of course his handkerchiefs—he couldn’t forget those!

            Yes, he would have Sting with him, but that went without saying. He didn’t plan on getting into any fights of battles and the road to Imladis should be very safe this time of year, but one just could not be complacent about such things! Thorin badgered him day and night over it! Of course, Thorin would be with him too but that was for company more than anything else—not that there would be any way Bilbo could prevent the ghost from following him, even if he wanted to; which he most certainly _did not_ want to, thank you very much!

            Not for the first time, Bilbo stopped in the middle of his preparations to wonder what Elrond would do if he saw Thorin? He knew that the Elves where not magical in the same sense as the Istari but still, they might be able to see a spirit. Thorin said that he would not appear in front of any Elf, unless he had no other choice. Bilbo naturally had to reminded him that scaring the robes of an Elf was most differently _not_ on the list of ‘No Other Choices’—much to Thorin’s disgruntlement.

            However, regardless of Thorin’s accompanying him, the spirit still had issues with Bilbo’s destination.

            “I still cannot comprehend,” Thorin said, pacing around Bilbo’s room, “this desire of yours to visit Rivendell!”

            “I liked our time there,” Bilbo said, going through his clothes and trying to pick a few things to pack. “You told me it was where you knew you loved me. And besides, Lord Elrond told me that I was most welcomed to visit for as long as I wished.”

            “He said that sixty years ago!” Thorin spat out.

            “He reiterated it to me when I passed through on my way back from Erebor.”

            “Again, sixty years ago!”

            “What is sixty years to an immortal being?”

            Thorin didn’t answer right away, but that didn’t mean he was giving up.

            “Why not visit Erebor?” The Dwarf asked for what Bilbo thought was the hundredth time that week. “If you want an adventure, why not retrace the very first one you went on. You know you would be welcomed.”

            “I am sure,” Bilbo set aside two waistcoats, one for everyday use and the other was one of his finest. He turned his attention to pants now. “However, I have no desire to return as I keep telling you.”

            “Why?” Thorin demanded. “Because we are not as _cultured_ as the tree-shaggers?!”

            Bilbo turned around and glared at his lover. “You know damn well that I don’t think that at all! Don’t make assumptions that are untrue.” Bilbo was not about to listen to any nonsense. “I am simply looking for peace and quiet.”

            “And you don’t feel you will get that in Erebor?!”

            “I went on a quest with thirteen dwarfs and got neither peace nor quiet. I seriously doubt I will find either in a mountain full of tens of thousands of Dwarrow.”

            “But you are Khazad-bâhel,” Thorin added. “You would be honored there!”

            “I hate to point this out,” Bilbo said, not looking at Thorin, “But I was also named Elvellon as well, so my being honored really isn’t an issue.”

            Thorin growled in frustration and Bilbo did all he could to suppress as chuckle. He loved his Dwarf with all his heart and would until the breaking of the world, but even he had to admit that Thorin was a hard-headed, stubborn, grouchy, brooding, dunderhead at times—of course, Bilbo would never admit out loud that those qualities might well be what he found so endearing.

            Bilbo finally decided on two pairs of pants—one a golden-beige made of heavy cotton twill for everyday use and the other made of soft, fine black cotton for more formal occasions. Naturally, he knew he would have new things made in Rivendell, but he didn’t want to show up with nothing to wear at all—what would he change into for dinner? Honestly, the thought was unthinkable.

            “The bottom line is this,” Bilbo said as he rolled up the pants as neatly as possible, “after the party tonight, I will head to Rivendell.” Bilbo drew a breath before added the one thing he had held off in saying aloud. “I mean not to return to The Shire.”

            Bilbo didn’t turn but he heard Thorin stop his pacing.

            “You mean at the end of the season.”

            “No,” Bilbo turned and chewed on his lower lip before continuing. “No, I mean I am going to go and live in Rivendell.”

            Bilbo held his breath as Thorin puffed up.

            “WHAT IN THE NAME OF MAHAL DO YOU MEAN BY _LIVE_ THERE?!”

            “Shush!” Bilbo hissed out. “Don’t go shouting down the smial! Frodo could come in any minute.”

            Thorin narrowed his gaze. “Why did you not tell me this before?”

            “Because I knew you would be upset.”

            “That is an understatement!”

            “Thorin, Frodo comes of age today, it’s time.”

            “Don’t give me that _ELF-SHIT!_ ”

            “Watch your language!”

            “Fine. Don’t give me that horse-shit."

            Bilbo huffed out sigh. “Thorin, I want to go, I want to go on one last adventure.”

            “ _Last_ adventure?” Thorin looked incredulous.

            “Yes,” Bilbo had dreaded this conversation but there was nothing for it now. “Thorin, I am eleventy-one years old. I don’t know how much time I have left.”

            The Dwarf’s spirit seemed to deflate with the comment. “But you are healthy, sanâzyung. You still have—”

            “No, I don’t,” Bilbo walked over and held out his hands for Thorin to take. No matter how solid Thorin could make his spirit, his touch was still cold and whisper like. “Most Hobbits barely make it past one-hundred. A few are lucky and live to one-hundred and ten, and of those a very rare few may make it to one-hundred and twenty.”

            “But your grandfather—” Thorin offered in hope.

            “The Old Took was unusual,” Bilbo said to stop Thorin continuing. “To live to one-hundred and thirty is unheard of. No one has come close to it—well, Gollum exceeded it greatly, but Gandalf wasn’t overly sure he was a full Hobbit or not. But, be that as it may, it is very unlikely that I will come close to grand-dad.”

            Thorin seemed to have no words to respond. Bilbo wondered, even after all the talks they had had over the years, after all the whispered longing to be together, and although the natural conclusion of life was death, if Thorin was just now coming to realize that his beloved Hobbit was truly reaching the end of life.

            “Thorin,” Bilbo said quietly after the Dwarf didn’t say anything for several minutes. “Talk to me.”

            “I knew your end would come,” Thorin whispered, just loud enough to be heard. “I only just now realized that I will have to watch you die.”

            So that was it. “You don’t have to watch Thorin,” Bilbo replied. “You don’t have to be there at that last moment.”

            “I will not abandon you at the end!” Thorin said fiercely.

            “I know it will be hard,” Bilbo said softly. “Yavanna knows, it was hard for me when—when, I watched you die.”

            Bilbo closed his eyes as he was overwhelmed by memories.

 

_“Don’t cry my dear burglar. I am so sorry.  I take back my words and deeds at the gate and I wish to part … in friendship.”  Thorin’s smile faded a bit and his eyes glistened with tears._

_Bilbo could not contain his tears and he used all his efforts to keep his voice as even as possible, lest Thorin not hear him clearly.  “Oh Thorin, you have no need of my forgiveness, I never blamed you for you actions!  I hurt you -- I did all the wrong things, regardless of the right reasons!  It is I that beg your forgiveness for I love you more than I can express!”_

_Thorin smiled and a tear slowly ran down his cheek.  “I forgave you the moment you were gone – for I regretted everything as soon as I realized I had chosen hoarded gold over the one being I truly treasured.   But now I go to where all the gold and silver have no worth.”_

_“No, Thorin.  No.”_

_“Farewell, my sweet Bilbo – my love”  Thorin’s eyes closed; his breathing slowed._

_“Thorin – Thorin, please stay with me!”  Bilbo pleaded and begged, but Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, was already gone._

           

            Bilbo shuddered at the thought, but his mind raced on.

 

_The wind whipped his cloak about him, but he felt neither warmth nor cold, and he was oblivious to the watchful eyes of the hundreds of people forming the circle around the viewing area.  He knelt down beside the coffin and gently rearranged Thorin’s braids, although they didn’t need it._

_Suddenly, Bilbo realized that someone was standing next to him and he looked up to see King Bard standing there.  Bard reached out his hand and the Hobbit saw the Arkenstone._

_Bilbo’s small hands slowly took the radiant jewel and placed it over Thorin’s heart.  It was only then, as Bilbo drew back his own hands that they brushed against Thorin’s folded ones and the Halfling realized how terribly cold and lifeless they were.  Reality hit him and his grief, which was thought, spent, rushed forth like a flood and he crumpled over the side of the coffin and sobbed._

            Bilbo’s mind swept him on to reach the memory’s final conclusion.

 

_“I know just how you feel, Mister Baggins,” Dain said to Bilbo’s retreating back._

_Bilbo stopped dead and his tears turned hot and dried up as the resentment filled him.  He took a deep breath and turned on the Dwarf._

_“You do, do you?”  Bilbo said quietly and the others in the tomb felt a chill.  “You know how I feel?  Tell me, Dain, how is it possible that I am able to stand upright and breathe?  How am I able to continue on minute by minute?  What restrains me from running to the top of the tallest set of stairs and flinging myself down them in a final act so that I can have the honor and privilege to be buried next to Thorin Oakenshield for eternity?_

_“Pray tell me the answers to these questions – seeing how ‘you know how I feel.’  Because I don’t know the answers.”_

Bilbo was not even aware of the tears streaming down his face. It was as if it all happened yesterday; the tent, the iron coffins, the cold damp of the tombs clinging to him. It was too much; it was all just too much.

            “I can’t go back to Erebor,” Bilbo whispered hoarsely as he turned his tear-stained face to Thorin. “I can’t revisit the place where I lost you. I couldn’t stand to be in your tomb, Thorin—because I fear, like all those years ago, I will only want to lie down and die next to you.”

            Thorin wrapped Bilbo in his arms and offered as much comfort his form was able to give. There was now no question of where Bilbo should go.

            “You will go to Rivendell,” Thorin whispered. “I will not bring up again your returning to the mountain.” Bilbo nodded against the ghostly chest of his love. “I should have realized,” Thorin continued. “I have put you through too much already; I will not be the cause more suffering.”

            Bilbo snuggled close and even if Thorin wasn’t warm, it warmed the Hobbit’s heart to have him near.

            “Uncle?” Frodo’s voice echoed through the smial. “Uncle, are you here?”

            Thorin dematerialized as Bilbo got up. “I am in my room, Frodo.” Bilbo called out just as he dipped a handkerchief in the water by his bed and quickly wiped his eyes and cheeks.

            Frodo came through Bilbo’s bedroom door just as the older Hobbit dried his face.

            “Uncle,” Frodo said with a smile. “There was some question regarding the ale—Sam’s Gaffer wondered if you would allow him to bring his homebrew?”

            Bilbo laughed. The gaffer’s ale was notorious throughout Hobbiton, if not the entire Shire. “Tell Hamfast that I would be honored.”

            “He’ll be so pleased,” Frodo said with a little chuckle. “I think he made extra just for tonight.”

            “It wouldn’t be a celebration without Gaffer Gamgee’s Homebrew!”

            Frodo laughed, but turned back before he exited the room. “Oh, by the way,” Frodo added. “All the gifts have been brought down to the party meadow and we set up two tables, one for the labeled gifts and one for unmarked ones.”

            “Excellent,” Bilbo said, going to wardrobe and pulling out his clothes of the party. “That will make it very easy for everyone to help themselves!”

            “I thought so too,” Frodo nodded. “I will go tell Mister Gamgee about his ale, and then get ready for the party. Some have already started arriving!” At the last line, Frodo left his Uncle’s room and Bilbo heard only the sounds of his nephew’s footfalls echoing back at him.

            Bilbo started to change and as he heard the front door close, Thorin appeared at his side.

            “Will you make me a promise?” Thorin asked.

            “And what is that?” Bilbo smiled up at the Dwarf.

            “That you enjoy yourself to no end tonight,” Thorin reached out and stroked Bilbo’s cheek. “Greet your friends, tell jokes, tell your stories, eat, drink and make merry, and then blow out your candles and make a wish. Do these things for me.”

            “I will do my best,” Bilbo answered with mock seriousness, but every plan he had ended with him having a good deal of Gamgee’s Homebrew.

            Thorin bent down and placed a kiss upon his Hobbit’s lips. “Then I bid you well, and Happy Birthday, my love.” With that, Thorin dematerialized again.

            Bilbo continued to dress but his mind was elsewhere now. It should have been on the party or the long journey ahead. It should have been on his promise to enjoy himself and his resolve to avoid Lobelia. It should have been on so many things, but at that moment he could only think of one thing—Thorin.

            _Blow out your candles and make a wish_

            But he reminded himself that it was no good, for all that he ever wished for had died at the foot of the Lonely Mountain sixty years ago.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            It was hilarious! They were running back up to Bag End leaving all the chaos and yelling behind them. Bilbo was holding Thorin’s hand as they laughed over the expressions of his relatives and neighbors. _Honestly,_ Bilbo thought, _like they’ve never seen someone disappear before their eyes before!_ Then that little voice in the back of his mind told him, they hadn’t and it was all Bilbo could do to keep from falling over laughing!   Thorin thought it amazingly funny—no doubt now where Fili and Kili got their humor from.

            They were still laughing as the door closed behind them.

            “Let me just go,” Bilbo said heading towards his room, “and change into my traveling jacket and grab that last of my things.”

            Thorin nodded and wandered into the parlour where Bilbo had his pack ready for the last of his things.

            Bilbo hummed a little tune to himself. He had been working on his walking song off and on since his first journey to Erebor. He had many versions but each one he considered an improvement over the last. He made a mental note to teach it to Thorin on their way to Rivendell.

            He headed back to the parlour, picking up a couple of candles and his best walking stick along the way. As he entered he saw Thorin standing by the open back pack; a scowl on his face; as he walked over to his lover but before he could ask what was the matter as voice sounded behind him.

            “I suppose you think that was terribly clever.” Gandalf said

            Whipping around, Bilbo released a sigh before saying, “Come on, Gandalf!”

            “Did you see their faces?” Thorin added. Spirit or not, Thorin was not going to let the fun of go.

            Gandalf was clearly not amused. “There are many magic rings in the world,” the wizard stated imperiously. “None of them should be used _lightly_.”

            Thorin just shook his head. “It was just a bit of fun.”

            “Oh he’s probably right,” Bilbo said, putting the candles in the pack. “As usual.” Bilbo turned and headed to the fireplace mantel to grab his pipe. “You will keep an eye on Frodo won’t you?”

            “Two eyes,” Gandalf answered. “As often as I can spare them.”

            “You better,” Thorin growled out, which Gandalf ignored.

            “I’m leaving everything to him.” Bilbo commented as he grabbed his leather bound journal. He has yet to finish writing his tales.

            “What about this ring of yours,” Gandalf asked gently. “Is that staying too?”

            “Yes, yes,” Bilbo said with a tiny bit of annoyance. He was getting a bit irritated with Gandalf harping on about his precious ring. “It’s in an envelope,” Bilbo gestured towards the fireplace. “Over there on the mantelpiece.”

            Gandalf turned to look for it but he missed Thorin’s inquisitive.

            “No, my love,” Thorin said quietly. “It’s there—in your pocket.”

            Bilbo looked at the Dwarf’s spirit bemused then shook his head a bit like he was clearing it. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out the golden band. “Isn’t that,” Bilbo started, “isn’t that odd now?” Bilbo turned the ring over and over in his fingers and smiled a bit. “Yet, after all, why not—why shouldn’t I keep it?”

            “But, my love,” Thorin said puzzled. “You really won’t need it any longer.”

            “I think, you should leave the ring behind, Bilbo,” Gandalf added firmly. “Is that so hard?”

            Bilbo whipped around as if he had forgotten that Gandalf or Thorin were even there. “Well, no,” Bilbo answered but his face darkened a bit, “and yes.” He stared at the ring again and possessive feeling closed around him. “Now it comes to it, I don’t feel like parting with it.” _How dare he ask me to leave it behind!_ “It’s mine—I found it—it came to me!” His disdain spilling over.

            “My love,” Thorin implored. “It’s only a trinket.”

            “There’s no need to get angry,” Gandalf said stunned.

            “Well, if I’m angry,” Bilbo spat out, “it’s your fault! It’s mine—my own—my precious.” Bilbo cooed at the ring all the while caressing it like a treasured keepsake.

            “Precious?” Gandalf said perplexed. “It’s been called that before. But not by you.”

            Bilbo turned on Gandalf with a snarl. “So? What business is it of yours what I do with my own things?!”

            Gandalf held his ground. “I think you’ve had that ring quite long enough.”

            Bilbo looked ready to fight. “You want it for yourself!”

            “BILBO BAGGINS!” Gandalf roared and both Bilbo and Thorin stepped back against the wall. “DO NOT TAKE ME FOR SOME CONJURER OF CHEAP TRICKS!” The air stilled and the great smial groaned from the expansion of Gandalf’s power. “I am not trying to rob you! I am trying to help you.” As quickly as it started things returned to normal and Bilbo felt as if he could breathe again.

            Bilbo felt miserable and shamed. He turned and buried his face into Thorin’s chest and in return the Dwarf wrapped his own arms around his Hobbit.

            Gandalf kneeled down and rested a hand on Bilbo’s head. “All, these long years,” the wizards said calmly, “we’ve been friends. Trust me—as you once did. Let it go.”

            “My love,” Thorin whispered. “Don’t choose gold over the ones that love you. Don’t make my mistake.”

            Bilbo looked up and saw the sadness and misery on Thorin’s face. “You’re right, both of you,” Bilbo said taking a deep breath. “The ring must go to Frodo.” Both Gandalf and Thorin nodded and released Bilbo. “It’s late, and the road is long,” Bilbo said, slinging his pack on his back, grabbed his walking stick and headed to the foyer. “Yes, it is time.” Bilbo opened the door and took a breath.

            “Bilbo,” Gandalf said gently.

            “Hmm?” Bilbo said turning back and seeing that neither Thorin or Gandalf had moved.

            “The ring,” Thorin stated with a narrowed gaze, “is still in your pocket, love.”

            “Oh, yes,” Bilbo gave a little embarrassed laugh and pulled out the ring. It weighted heavy in his palm and for some reason he just could not turn his hand over. There was still a hint of longing there but Thorin’s words of gold over loved ones echoed in his head.   So focused on the ring, Bilbo failed to notice Thorin coming up to stand next to him.

            “Let it go, Bilbo,” Thorin whispered and gently began turning Bilbo’s hand. “Let it go.”

            Finally, with a heavy thud, the ring fell to the tiled floor and Bilbo turned and rushed out the door. Finally he felt like he could take a deep breath of fresh, evening air and he did—the weight seemed to float away.

            “I’ve thought up an ending for my book,” Bilbo said lightly, turning back to look at Gandalf as Thorin came to stand by his love. “ _And he lived happily ever after—to the end of his days.”_

“And I’m sure you will,” Gandalf said, kneeling down to take Bilbo’s hand. “My dear friend.”

            Bilbo shook Gandalf’s hand. “Good-bye Gandalf.” Thorin nodded his farewell to the wizard.

            “Good-bye to you both,” Gandalf answered, releasing Bilbo’s hand and looking between the two. “Until our next meeting.”

            Bilbo turned and made his way down the stairs and with each step Thorin slowly dematerialized. Both Bilbo and Gandalf were sure though that the Dwarf was not more than two feet away from Bilbo at all times.

            As Gandalf stood and watched his friend walk away, Bilbo’s voice carried back to him.

 

            “ _The Road goes ever on and on,_

_Down from the door where it began._

_Now far ahead the Road has gone,_

_And I must follow, if I can”_

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            The journey to Rivendell took just about three weeks. There were no trolls this time and no Orc packs to speak of. There was a bandit one night at dusk when Bilbo was strolling along. However, Thorin materialized and scared the crap out of the man—literally, which caused them a half hour delay as neither Bilbo or Thorin could continue until they had gotten their laughter under control.

            Bilbo walked over the bridge and through the main gate of Rivendell just before dinner—a feat that even Lord Elrond could not stop himself from laughing over, _leave it to a Hobbit to arrive just in time for food._ As predicted, Bilbo was welcomed with open arms and when the Elves were informed that the Hobbit would be staying there to live, Elrond made sure that Bilbo had a beautiful room with a large, wide balcony that over looked much of the valley.

            Naturally, Thorin did not say a word nor materialize before any of the Elves. As much as he hated the idea of Bilbo living with the _tree-shaggers,_ he would not dare do a think to jeopardize the arrangement or embarrass his love.

            At dinner, the conversation was lively, and Bilbo met Elrond’s daughter, Arwen.

            But after so long on the road, Bilbo decided to retire early. Lord Elrond escorted Bilbo back to his room.

            “I know we have already spoken of this,” Elrond said, “but please know that we are most sincere when we invited you to stay here for as long as you wish.”

            “Even if that may be to the end of my days?” Bilbo said, giving Elrond an amused look.

            “Even until then, Master Baggins,” Elrond reached out and opened Bilbo’s door. “If there is anything you require, simply ask. I will have tailors come and see you on the morrow and have a new wardrobe made for you.”

            “That is most kind of you, m’lord,” Bilbo said with a bow of his head.

            “Not at all,” Elrond replied with a hand over his heart and a bow of his own head in return to Bilbo’s. “Sleep well, Master Baggins.”

            “And you as well, m’lord,” Bilbo smiled as Elrond made to leave.

            “Oh, before I forget,” Elrond said turning in the doorway. “Good night to you as well, Thorin Oakenshield.”

            Bilbo stood gawping and Thorin materialized immediately next to Bilbo.

            “You knew I was here the whole time?” the spirit asked.

            “I didn’t see you,” Elrond said, clearly amused at the other two’s expressions. “But Gandalf said you would be arriving as well and I had no doubt that you would not be further than an arm’s length away from Master Baggins at one given time.” It was getting harder for Elrond not to laugh as Bilbo blushed and Thorin scowled. “I look forward to Gandalf finding out the explanation to your presence, Master Dwarf. But until then, know you are welcome here as well.”

            With that, Elrond left and Bilbo could only stare at Thorin with amazement. Finally, Thorin broke the quiet.

            “Damn wizard and Elves,” Thorin said with a slight growl.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuz-dul Translations**  
>  Khazad-bâhel – Dwarf Friend of all Friends  
> Sanâzyung – Perfect (true/pure) love = a Dwarf’s One
> 
>  
> 
>  **Sindarin Translations**  
>  Elvellon – Elf-friend


	11. The One Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All is peaceful in Rivendell - until there sounds the drums of War

* * *

 

            Bilbo had only been in Rivendell a few weeks after leaving The Shire, before the Elves played host to a trio of traveling Dwarfs; Raul, Dhaul, and Kaul, sons of Fraul. They were quite a merry trio and were on their way from Ered Luin to Erebor now that they were no long apprentices. They were astonished to find Bilbo staying with the Elves but were friendly and courteous to him and asked all sorts of questions regarding Thorin and the reclaiming of The Lonely Mountain. They brought much news of Ered Luin and Thorin, while remaining hidden, followed them about and talked with Bilbo later in the night about it.

            The brothers also brought news that King Bain of Dale was quite ill, although Lord Elrond himself said that he had not heard of any illness. However, the Dwarves insisted and had letters from family that supported the idea. Bilbo was quite distressed at the idea of King Bain dying and this urged Bilbo, at the very least, to visit him before he passed on.

            So the decision was made and just one month after setting foot in Rivendell, both Bilbo and Thorin, well hidden of course, made their way to the City of Dale.

            Nothing could prepare them. While the plague was only eleven years in the past, the city had rebounded beautifully. There were so many children in the streets that the entire town felt young and vibrant. Many people from Gondor and Rohan had come to help Dale after the plague and a great number stayed. This not only strengthened the ties between Dale and the other two kingdoms but brought a new vigor to the surrounding area. Also, ties and trade with Erebor had been slowly re-established in the last three or four years, now that the Dwarrow civil unrest had past.  Had Bilbo not been aware of all that had transpired, he would never have guessed by what he saw upon entering the city gates.

            Bilbo was surprised to find that, yes King Bain had been ill, but it was not as bad as he and the Dwarrow were lead to believe. Bain remembered Bilbo fondly and invited him to stay at the Palace until such time as he returned to Rivendell. Bain’s oldest sister, Sigrid, lived in Minas Tirith with her husband, a wealthy merchant but his youngest, Tilda, agreed with the king that Bilbo should stay. Although he normally would never dream of imposing, Bilbo thought refusal would be very rude and agreed.

            One advantage was that the palace was in the middle of the city and higher up, so Bilbo would have lovely views of the surrounding area and it would mean that he had easier access to most of the city.

            His staying in the palace also lent itself more easily for others to visit him.

            Not a week after his arrival and Bilbo was graced with a visit from Dain. The Dwarf-king was very welcoming and spent a great deal of the first day talking with Bilbo and told him news of the mountain. He also apologized again for any slight that he might have caused all those years ago and when Bilbo tried to tell him there wasn’t any, Dain pointed out that Bilbo had never come back to the mountain and he could only imagine that it was because he had been insulted.

            Bilbo was touched by Dain’s concern and decided that being honest was the best policy, telling Dain exactly what he told Thorin; being back where he had lost his love and being in the mountain with Thorin’s tomb was too much for him. Dain listened attentively and while he was sorry to hear that he could not persuade Bilbo to come to Erebor, he most definitely understood. Before returning to the mountain, Dain once again extended an open invitation, should Bilbo ever change his mind, and wanted Bilbo to know that he was as welcome as any family member would be.

            Bilbo stayed for the winter in Dale and was visited by many of his old friends. All wanted him to come to the mountain but each time, Bilbo politely refused and honestly, he never had to explain why—they all seemed to know.

            When the first day of spring dawned, Bilbo knew it was time to go home. He thanked Bain and his family for allowing him to visit, and he was greeted at the gates by Dain and a small delegation of Dwarrow to wish him on his way. Many wanted to see him safely to Rivendell; both King Bain and King Dain offered to send escorts with him, but ultimately, Bilbo left Dale with those members of the company that wanted and were able to go; this was Bofur, Nori, and Dwalin.

            Bilbo was tempted to talk to Dwalin about Ori; wanted to ask if he had heard from his ex-husband, if there was any chance of reconciliation. But it never seemed the right time, and not five days into their journey, Bofur was chatting about a possible new source of mithril, when Bilbo realized that both Nori and Dwalin had gone very quiet. Clearly the talk of Khazad-dum’s main export only lead to untouchable subjects and Bilbo decided that he wouldn’t say a word to Dwalin unless the Warrior brought it up first. Which he never did.

            It took two months to arrive back at Rivendell, but Lord Elrond was as welcoming as ever and the three Ereborean Dwarfs stayed until the end of summer before they headed home. Bilbo was sad to see them leave, guessing that it was probably the last time he would ever look upon any member of the company again, but none of them mentioned it and they wished each other well.

            From then on, Bilbo’s life was filled with writing, reading, studying and walking the gardens. The only sadness to visit him in Rivendell was when Lord Elrond received a missive from Dale in the year, thirty-aught-seven; King Bain had died. Bilbo was sorry to hear the news, but was glad he had gone to see Bain all the years before. His only consolation was that Bain had had a good life; lived well into his late seventies and had enjoyed a reign of peace and prosperity. Bilbo asked Lord Elrond to extend his sympathies to Bain’s son, King Brand, and also his wishes for continued good fortune.

            Throughout their stay with the Elves, Thorin kept his promise and none but Lord Elrond and Gandalf were, at first, aware of his presence—Arwen eventually found out when she overheard Bilbo holding a conversation but not seeing another nearby, and assumed that Bilbo was becoming senile. She, of course, went to her father immediately with her fears, only for him to then explain the situation. Rather than be shocked, Arwen expressed gladness; she had often lamented the fact that Bilbo had no one particularly close to his heart with him Rivendell and she was all too aware of being separated from one’s true love.

            Gandalf did visit every so often but as the years went by, he still could offer no further explanation regarding Thorin’s extraordinary existence and nor could Lord Elrond find any case of such a manifestation in any of his ancient books or texts. The only thing they could connect was that as Sauron’s power grew in the East, so too did Thorin grow stronger. Thorin continued to deny any whisper or pull of evil and neither Lord Elrond nor Gandalf could detect any evil surrounding him. It was truly a puzzling and perplexing mystery.

            Of course, none of them were prepared for what Gandalf finally discovered or what came with Frodo’s arrival in Rivendell that Winterfilth, thirty-eighteen.

           

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

 **_10/25/3018_ ** **_– The Council of Elrond_ **

 

            His entire being seemed numb; he just couldn’t feel anything, anywhere. It had started when it was finally explained that his ‘funny, little ring’, that ‘handy little trinket’ as Thorin had once called it, that most insignificant of pieces, was none other than The Ring of Power; The One Ring—created by The Dark Lord and thought lost to time and all knowledge. Then it was decided that the only way to rid the world of this evil was to have it destroyed; and not just destroyed but unmade at nowhere else but Mount Doom in Mordor.

            Just another holiday walk-about; Bilbo would have laughed sardonically if it hadn’t been Frodo, of all beings, to state he would take it! Oh, by all that was sacred and pure, not his boy!

            It was then that his whole being went numb.

            Of course, Bilbo offered to take it himself—he started this whole damn thing, so why shouldn’t he finish it? But of course Gandalf told he couldn’t; not only was he in no position to make such a journey, what with his age and infirmities, but because he simply couldn’t take the ring back onto himself. It would consume him long before he ever reached Mordor, let alone Mount Doom. So Bilbo had to sit back and watch as his innocent, precious nephew took on the responsibility and burden that should never have been his to bear.

            When the council was over, Bilbo felt so ill, so guilty—miserable really. All he wanted to do was talk with Frodo, but the Fellowship as they called themselves was whisked away. Even though everyone had agreed that there would need to be two months at least for preparations, those plans needed to be started now. It was Arwen who came forth and gently led Bilbo back to his apartment and there to wait for Frodo to come to him.

            “This is entirely my fault,” Bilbo fretted, pacing about his room.

            “It is no such thing, âzyungel,” Thorin replied.

            “I should never have picked up that ring!” Bilbo did all he could not to cry.

            “If you hadn’t,” Thorin said, “you would have perished by Gollum’s hand.”

            “Regardless, the fact remains that it’s Frodo that will have this burden!” Bilbo stopped and stared wide-eyed at Thorin. “I’m sending him to his death.” The tears now rolled down Bilbo’s cheeks.

            “Enough,” Thorin said almost angrily as he pulled Bilbo into an embrace. “You have done no such thing!”

            “But, Thorin,” Bilbo hiccupped. “What if he doesn’t come back?”

            “He is strong,” Thorin answered. “He will complete the quest.”

            “But just suppose—”

            “No. He will succeed.”

            “The quest could still claim his life.”

            “If it be so, then know he gave it honorably.”    

            “They said the same of you,” Bilbo said softly, giving Thoirn a bitter smile. “And it offered very little comfort when I watched them seal your tomb.”

            Thorin had nothing to say to that. He knew it to be true.

            “Fear not, dear Bilbo,” Gandalf’s voiced sounded from the door. “I will do all in my power to see that young Frodo comes to no harm.”

            Bilbo turned to the wizard and nodded. “Let’s hope then that no harm comes to you.”

            “I am a wizard, Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf stated with a smirk. “Little harm can befall me.”

            Bilbo laughed out loud, before saying, “Fair enough, my friend. I won’t doubt you.” Thorin could feel the tension leaving his Hobbit, even as Bilbo’s tone turned serious. “How is Frodo?”

            “Nervous,” Gandalf replied, coming in and taking a seat. “But we have two months to prepare and that will give him time to build his courage.”

            “Two months,” Bilbo repeated quietly. “You will be leaving at mid-winter. Must you start then?”

            “We need time to prepare, but we cannot wait too long.” Gandalf pulled out his pipe, filled it and then lit it with his finger—a gesture that still amazed both Bilbo and Thorin. “Besides, the enemy will not expect us to travel in winter, so that may yet further our advantage.”

            “Must you take the Elf?” Thorin spat out.

            “You have little to fear from Legolas, Thorin,” Gandalf said. “He is not his father.”

            “It is his father who I fear,” Thorin countered.

            “And what has Thranduil have to do with The Ring?”

            “I am sure that worthless mahabrûf would like nothing more than to get his hands on any Ring of Power!” Thorin growled out. “Seeing as he has none now.”

            “And how do you know that, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf stated with narrowed eyes.

            “Don’t insult me, Tharkûn,” Thorin waved his hand dismissively. “It doesn’t take a wizard to realize that Lothlorien and Imladris are both free of evil and well-protected. I am sure if Thranduil had had even just an Elven Ring of Power, Mirkwood would still be Greenwood and we would never have had to deal with spiders and poisoned woods during the Quest for Erebor.”

            Gandalf was impressed. He had no idea Thorin was so observant.

            “Well-spotted, my love,” Bilbo said smiling proudly at the spirit who just shrugged in return.

            “Yes, well,” Gandalf said before the discussion went any further astray, “be that all as it may, it is The Ring that I have come here to talk about.” Both Bilbo and Thorin turned to look at the wizard. “It seems we have the answers to Thorin’s existence at long last.”

            “You believe The One Ring the reason for my return?” Thorin asked.

            “I more than believe,” Gandalf said with a pointed look. “It is the one thing that makes sense.”

            “But I never wore it,” Thorin insisted. “In fact, I never even touched it.”

            “It’s true, Gandalf,” Bilbo added. “I don’t even think I let him see it.”

            “But this has nothing to do with his coming in contact with it.” Gandalf answered as he put out his pipe. “He wasn’t the one that used it.”

            Bilbo took a step back. “Are you saying I truly am responsible?”

            Gandalf gave him a lazy look that spoke volumes.

            “But I swear,” Bilbo desperately looked between Gandalf and Thorin, “I would have never done something so evil!"

            “Not on purpose,” Gandalf said. “Tell me Bilbo, where was The Ring when you were in Thorin’s Tomb?”

            “It was—,” Bilbo stopped, hadn’t he taken it off? No. “I was wearing it.”

            “And what did you ask of it?” Gandalf continued.

            “Nothing!” Bilbo was emphatic. “I didn’t ask for anything!”

            But Thorin was shaking his head. “No.  You didn’t ask, but you wished.”

            “What?” Bilbo turned to his lover.

            “You said that,” Thorin said softly. “It was the first thing I remember, _‘_ _I wish it were more, my love’,_ that’s what you said.”

            “But I was talking of the marker,” Bilbo said pleadingly. “I never intended to bring you back.”

            “Your unstated intentions mattered not to The Ring,” Gandalf pointed out. “You bore The One Ring, you were wielding its power, you made a wish for more over the body of your dead lover, and The Ring took you at your word.

            “And now we know why Thorin has gotten stronger. As Sauron’s power grew, so did the power of The Ring, and thus so did Thorin’s strength to appear at will and with solidity.”

            Bilbo felt wretched. It was one thing, years ago, to think his tears had been the cause of Thorin’s return, but to know for sure, to have it confirmed that it was his use of the vilest of evil things that had tied Thorin to this pale imitation of life, this echo of the living that hurt even more. Guilt rose up in him like bile and Bilbo was sure he would be sick.

            “Don’t,” Thorin said, turning Bilbo around and holding him close. “You cannot blame yourself for what you didn’t know.”

            “Indeed, Bibo,” Gandalf said gently. “Considering all that The Ring has done to separate you both, you cannot blame yourself for it’s one blessing—whether unintended or not.”

            Both Bilbo and Thorin slowly turned to look at the wizard, who seemed perplexed at their astonishment.

            “Naturally,” Gandalf said with a shrug, “you must know that Thorin’s death is clearly the work of The Ring.”

            Bilbo’s jaw dropped. “I know nothing natural of the kind!”

            “Nor do I,” Thorin scowled. “Explain yourself!”

            Gandalf huffed and shook his head as if he were dealing with simple-minded children. “The Ring is treacherous,” Gandalf stated. “It will not tolerate anything that could distract from its goal—from finding its way back to his one true master. When it abandoned Gollum, I am convinced it saw its chance to rid itself of Gollum and go back out into the world. While I also believe its target was the Goblin and not Bilbo, it still recognized that it would need to escape that cave if it ever wanted to be found. And it _does_ like to be found.”

            When Bilbo looked even more confused, Gandalf went further. “Sauron was still too weak at that point to declare himself openly. Therefore, The Ring was also very weak. It probably sensed life, not individuals. If the Goblin had only reached out and taken The Ring, it would have become the new Ring-Bearer, it would have easily escaped, brought The Ring back to Goblin Town at least and The Ring would have worked on the Goblin’s weak mind to draw more attention to itself and Sauron would have found it within a matter of months, if not weeks.

            “The Ring never intended for you to find it, of that I am sure. However, once you did and became the new Ring-Bearer, it was more than willing to assist with your escape and indeed, it hid you from Gollum and you took it right out of the mountain.

            “Now, as you are well aware at this point, The Ring has many abilities and it’s possessed of Sauron’s will. In fact, if he even has one, someone could say that his very soul is in that ring. Do you think that it would allow the Ring-Bearer to be distracted or claimed by another? No. By the time you rejoined us, The Ring would have already sensed your love for Thorin—and The Ring, like its master, does not share power.

            “Did it not occur to either of you that Thorin’s charge against Azog was not normal?”

            “He killed my grandfather!” Thorin thundered. “And he was indirectly responsible for the death of my brother, father and several members of my line!”

            “True as that may be,” Gandalf answered. “I must say, I have always wondered at the fact that a seasoned warrior such as yourself, a King in the line of Durin, a tactician that knew far better, would still have charged Azog, who had a dozen or more Orcs and almost double that number of Wargs beside him, all by yourself.

            Thorin couldn’t really answer Gandalf’s question; he had never questioned his attack on Azog—until now.

            “I wondered at the time,” Bilbo said quietly. “But I was never a warrior, so I never thought to openly question it.”

            “You were a man possessed, Thorin,” Gandalf stated. “You seemed in a trance; as if there was nothing else in the world but you and your enemy. The Ring sensed your hatred for The Pale Orc and amplified it to the point that it blinded you to everything else; even reason.”

            “But why would The Ring care about Thorin and I being in love?” Bilbo didn’t see the connection.

            “As I said, The Ring doesn’t share power.” Gandalf raised an eyebrow. “It certainly didn’t want anyone else in your heart to control you, it wanted that for itself. It most certainly wouldn’t want you to have the love of a Dwarf; Dwarrow are the most resistant race to the charms and seduction of The Dark Lord. No Dwarf has ever allowed himself to succumb to the dark forces.”

            “The Petty Dwarfs did,” Thorin countered.

            “For their own greed,” Gandalf said, “and by their own choice; not because their will was broken.”

            “So, The Ring,” Bilbo said slowly, “used Thorin’s hatred of Azog to urge him to challenge Azog alone with the idea of Thorin’s death?”

            “Correct.”

            “But it didn’t stop me from coming to his rescue.”

            “No. It didn’t. Or should I say, it couldn’t.”

            “You are losing me again,” Thorin said and Bilbo seemed to agree.

            Gandalf sighed. “Eru is the only Valar with the power to create life. Even Mahal, who made the Dwarrow, couldn’t give his children life—Eru had to do that. So, Morgoth, like all the other Valar cannot create. He and his servants can manipulate, they can corrupt, they can twist and mutate, but they cannot create. Why do you think Orcs do not breed as other races do to multiply, but rather corrupt that which is already living?

            “So, when Sauron made his Ring, he had to pour into it his own will—his own being so to speak, because he couldn’t give The Ring its own life. As such, The Ring has no concept of that which Sauron does not understand and Sauron does not understand love because it is something that comes from the very spark of life given to them by Eru.

            “The Ring couldn’t touch the love you shared, it could only try and break the bond between you, and there is no greater break than death. It drove Thorin to rush Azog with the intention that Azog would kill Thorin and thus, break your bond. But The Ring was weak and it wasn’t able to urge Thorin towards his enemy while at the same time, push Bilbo’s fear to override his love.”

            It was a sobering thought and Bilbo couldn’t keep from shivering; what if The Ring had had enough power to do both? What if his fear had overtaken him and he stayed frozen; horrified but unmoving as he watched the Dwarf he loved be murdered by his archenemy.  Thorin must have sensed something from Bilbo, as at that moment, he wrapped an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and drew him closer.

            “What is truly amazing,” Gandalf said, either not noticing Bilbo’s distress or not thinking it unusual. “Is that it would take three attempts to get it right.”

            “What attempts?!” Thorin demanded.

            “Are you under the impression,” Gandalf replied with a cocked eyebrow, “that your gold-madness was all your own?”

            Bilbo groaned shrinking a bit more into Thorin’s side, but the Dwarf puffed up. “Don’t you dare bring that up!” It was the one subject that he didn’t want Bilbo to have to hear about.

            Gandalf was not to be put off, however. “Your grandfather’s slide into madness was not instantaneous. It happened over a great number of years; a slow descent into greed and lust.” Gandalf filled his pipe again and lit it. “You on the other hand, within only a few short days, succumbed to it with an even greater passion and madness than Thror ever knew.”

            Try as he might, there would never be a time, a moment, when Thorin didn’t recall the vitriol, the screaming, the fear on Bilbo’s face, nor the feel of his hands around his little One’s throat. Thorin didn’t want to hear this, he didn’t want to hear where the rest of the story was going, but there was no stopping it.

            “Tell me, Bilbo,” Gandalf asked quietly. “When you stole the Arkentstone, what was your motivation?”

            “I wanted to stop a war,” Bilbo was almost indignantly. “You know that.”

            “So you knew the war was coming before the armies arrived?”

            “I—uhm—well—no, but—” Bilbo stuttered out.

            “Exactly,” Gandalf said. “You took the stone without a clear thought. You took it knowing it was an heirloom, knowing it was what Thorin wanted, and I will bet you were well aware what Thorin’s reactions would be, and yet you still stole it.”

            Bilbo looked miserable.

            “Why must you torture him with this?” Thorin demanded. “This is over and done with!”

            “I have no wish to torture, him,” Gandalf said. “Nor you for that matter. But you must see that The Ring used your madness and the Arkenstone as one more way to divide you both and it almost worked.”

            “No,” Thorin said holding his head up. “No, it was my fault and no one else’s.”

            “As noble as that sounds,” Gandalf lazily. “I can honestly say, you weren’t at fault entirely. And in fact, I think I can say that you would have been barely at fault had The Ring not been near you.”

            Bilbo started to cry at this. Once again, all the guilt and blame, for that had happened, settled heavily on his shoulders and wormed it’s way around his heart.  Thorin cradled Bilbo close and let him purge his anguish.

            “But why would The Ring,” Thorin said, “risk Bilbo’s life.”

            “His life wasn’t at risk,” Gandalf said.

            “Khathuzh mahhubmu!” Thorin spat out. “I could have killed him!” There it was said. It had been said before, confessed before, but now it seemed even worse for some reason.

            “Could you?” Gandalf asked quietly.

            “I threatened to!” Thorin hated this, but he would take the responsibility of his actions—no matter how horrendous.

            “But you wouldn’t have,” Bilbo stated with a small hiccup.  “You never would have.”

            “Azyungel,” Thorin whispered and hugged Bilbo closer. “You don’t know that. You have no idea how dark were my thoughts then.”

            “No,” Bilbo replied as he turned to gaze at Thorin. “But I knew your heart. You would not have hurt me.”

            “I could have killed you!”

            “No. No, you couldn’t and wouldn’t.”

            “But you were so scared!” Thorin said, angry at himself. “I made you fear me! You were pleading with me to stop and I didn’t!”

            “I did plead with you to stop,” Bilbo countered but gently, “but I wasn’t scared for me, for my life–I was scared for you! I was scared that you were losing yourself completely and I was desperate to reach you!”

            “Tell me, Bilbo,” Gandalf asked quietly. “Did Thorin ever loosen his grip?”

            “No,” Bilbo answered, shaking his head.

            “Did he ever shake off your hands that gripped his arm?”

            “You know he didn’t.”

            “Exactly.” Gandalf turned to the spirit. “I was there Thorin--you yelled, you screamed, you threatened, but never once did you go through with any of those things.” Gandalf took a puff of his pipe. “In fact, even before I stepped forward to take him from you, you were already pulling Bilbo back and setting him on the ground; you set him on the ground and pushed him to me—you didn’t throw him or shove him or do anything to cause him harm.”

            Thorin hung his head and looked away from both of the others. “But I hurt his heart,” he whispered. “I caused him a greater pain than if I had run him through with my dagger.”

            Bilbo reached out gently pulled Thorin’s face to look at him. “But I never stopped loving you.”

            “Yes,” Gandalf said with a small smile. “The Ring couldn’t destroy your love. But it could intensify all the other emotions and attempt to drive you apart.”

            “But we forgave each other,” Bilbo said, a little irritated. He clearly didn’t want to hear anymore about the Arkenstone or that awful day.

            “But only after The Ring’s third and final attempt to separate you,” Gandalf said darkly. “Only after it succeeded in killing Thorin.”

            “It was Azog that did that!” Thorin said bitterly.

            “Azog took your life, yes,” Gandalf agreed. “But only after The Ring made sure that Bilbo was not there to save you again.”

            “But Bilbo was no where near me,” Thorin almost laughed at the thought of Bilbo facing down Azog in the middle of the battle. It bordered on unbelievable.

            But Bilbo knew what Gandalf meant. “The rock.”

            “Precisely,” Gandalf said tapping out the ash from his pipe. “Where were you heading when you were hit?”

            “To Thorin’s aid,” Bilbo said and the moment came back to him.

 

_“He will not stand alone!” Bilbo thought as he raced towards Thorin. He would be more than happy to give his life for Thorin if it meant the mighty Dwarf-king’s safety. Dodging, ducking and weaving his way towards Thorin, Bilbo did not see a rock, hurtled from the mountain as defense, sailing towards him._

_Pain exploded on the right side of his skull and while his Elven helmet protected him from death; darkness took him and Bilbo fell unseen to the ground._

“The Ring,” Gandalf said, “succeeded in separating the two of you; all it needed at that point was to keep Bilbo from saving you.” Both Bilbo and Thorin stared at the wizard. “It knew Bilbo had already forgiven you and would come to your aid, even if you hadn’t made up at that point.”

            “Are you saying,” Bilbo asked. “That The Ring sent that rock towards me?”

            “No,” Gandalf stated. “But it blinded you to what was around you; blinded you to the rock sailing towards you.” Gandalf tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling before continuing. “I have to wonder, what your lives would have been, had Bilbo avoided that projectile. What other things might have changed?” Gandalf wasn’t really talking to either of them at that point. “I have to wonder who else might have been saved.” Gandalf seemed to be lost in his thoughts.

            “My death isn’t Bilbo’s fault,” Thorin said forcibly. He was concerned that, once again, Bilbo would blame himself for it all.

            “No, it wasn’t,” Gandalf stated firmly. “The Ring and Azog are to blame and none others.” Gandalf sat back. “However I am surprised that The Ring had the power to do it though, given all that it was doing to keep Bilbo alive to begin with.”

            “What does that mean?” Bilbo asked surprised.

“Bilbo,” Gandalf said, “You were a small being in the middle of a massive battle of five different armies; Dwarrow, Elves, Men, Orcs, Wargs – and yet, you came out of it with barely a scratch. And you were invisible on top of that—it would have been bad enough if you were visible, you would have still run the risk of being trampled or killed. But you were unseen by all, that put you at even greater risk and yet, you still remained unscathed.”

            “Well,” Bilbo said, trying to argue, but when Gandalf put it so bluntly, Bilbo could finally see that it was a miracle he survived at all, let alone in one piece.

            “And when you look at when you were hit,” Gandalf continued. “You were knocked out and lying on the field; anyone could have stepped on you; trampled you; crushed you even. You could have died in any number of ways, laying unseen in the mud, but you didn’t!” Gandalf was looking at Bilbo like he was looking at the dead walking.

            “So you are saying I have The Ring to thank for my survival?”

            “Yes, to put it bluntly,” Gandalf chuckled to himself.

            “What did you mean by The Ring having the strength, before?”

            “The Ring was doing all it could to keep you alive,” Gandalf answered. “But remember it was still weak, as was Sauron at that time—particularly because we were driving him out of Dol Guldur. So it’s a wonder The Ring had power enough to both keep you alive, Bilbo, and blind you to the rock. It was probably at its weakest and all its plans hinged on that one moment.”

            Bilbo was stunned, truly and thoroughly gobsmacked. What would have happened had he avoided that rock? Would he have been able to save Thorin? Could he have somehow saved their boys? Would his life have been a very different thing? By the Gods! Thorin would have gone on to be King, maybe the boys at his side—maybe Bilbo at his side! They might have had a royal life of prosperity and Thorin could have gone on to be a greater king than any of his predecessors. They might have had a family! And as Gandalf had said, it all hinged on one, small rock sailing through the air.

            “If you doubt The Ring’s involvement, consider this—it abandoned Isildur and Gollum with ease, almost on whim, and yet, as you lay in the mud and filth of a battle field, it never once left your finger.”

            “Well, if it had done that,” Bilbo started but then got lost in thought.

            “If it had done that,” Gandalf finished for Bilbo. “It would have been lost on that field, pushed deep into the mud and buried in the earth—forgotten.” Gandalf looked at Bilbo pointedly. “It needed you to live, to take it away. Which you finally did after Thorin was good and buried.”

            Thorin held Bilbo as all that Gandalf had said washed over them. It was chilling to think how much The Ring had really taken from them. Sure The Ring had given him Thorin back, but it was as a ghost, a spirit, barely more than an echo—nothing that would keep Bilbo from returning home.

            But Bilbo suddenly remembered the things that Gandalf had said earlier and fear rose up inside of him. “Gandalf,” Bilbo turned frightened eyes to the wizard. “You said that The Ring brought Thorin back.”

            “That is correct.”

            “And you mentioned that his strength, even his existence, is tied to The Ring’s.”

            “That is also correct.”

            “But you’re setting off to destroy it.”

            Gandalf didn’t respond—it wasn’t really a question.

            “Gandalf,” Bilbo continued. “What will happen to Thorin when The Ring is destroyed?”

            Gandalf took a deep breath and looked at his feet before releasing a heavy sigh and looking at his dear friend. “I cannot say Bilbo.”

            “You cannot say,” Bilbo was not happy. “Because you don’t know or you don’t want to say?”

            “I don’t know the answer you seek.”

            “But surely you have some idea?!”

            “There is no precedence for Thorin’s existence.”

            “What awaits the Wraiths?” Bilbo doubted he would like that answer he was going to get.

            “They will fall into the abyss of oblivion along with their master.”

            Bilbo felt ill; he was going to be sick, he was going to faint. _Just breathe, Baggins,_ he told himself. _Just breathe._

“However,” Gandalf continued. “They are tied to Sauron, directly. And they succumbed, and gave themselves to his darkness; neither of which can be said of Thorin.”

            “And Thorin?” Bilbo asked. “He is tied to The Ring.”

            “His _existence_ ,” Gandalf said pointedly, “is tied to The Ring. His person is tied to you Bilbo. You were the Ring-Bearer when he was brought forth.”

            “So he is safe then?” Bilbo was more than willing to grasp for hope.

            “I cannot say that,” Gandalf smiled sadly. “When The Ring is no more, will he be released back to The Halls, or will he be destroyed with it? I do not have the answers to say either way.”

            “But there must be a way to know!” Bilbo was desperate. He wanted Gandalf to give him something; anything!

            “I am sorry, Bilbo,” Gandalf said softly, finally. “There are no answers to what you seek. We may not know until the end has come.”

            Bilbo sat on the bed and once again, felt numb all over. Could it be possible? Was this all that there was for them? Would Thorin be destroyed? Would Bilbo pass over and have to endure eternity without Thorin?

            “My love,” Thorin whispered in Bilbo’s ear. “You must not let dark thoughts consume you so. We simply do not know.”

            Bilbo wanted to cry but he felt hollow inside. “But Thorin, what if you’re destroyed? What if _I_ have done this to you?” Bilbo wasn’t sure he could go on.

            “You did nothing,” Thorin said sternly. “But I will tell you, I would rather have had this, then never to have loved you at all.”

            Bilbo dissolved into tears at that point. It was too much.

            “Bilbo,” Gandalf said as he knelt before the Hobbit. “Try and have faith that all will work out for the best.”

            “That is very little to go on, Gandalf,” Bilbo said through his tears.

            “Sadly,” Gandalf replied with a bitter smile. “That is usually all we have to go on.”

            The Wizard stood and addressed them both. “I must leave now. I have many things to accomplish before this day is out.” With that, he swept from the room leaving the couple alone.

            “Oh, Thorin,” Bilbo said with another hiccup. “What I have done?”

            “Enough,” Thorin said gently.

            “But, Thorin,” Bilbo started.

            “No. No more talk tonight.” Thorin stood and held out his hand to assist Bilbo to stand. “Come, âzyungel—let us walk in the garden and be with each other.”

            Bilbo took the hand offered and stood, but as they made their way to the door, I felt he had to say something. “Thorin. I am so sorry for—”

            Thorin stopped him with a kiss and then pulled back.   “There are many things I regret, Bilbo Baggins,” Thorin traced Bilbo’s cheek with the back on his fingers. “But loving you was never one of them.”

            Thorin opened the door and dematerialized. Bilbo headed for the small, secured garden that Elrond had gifted him. There he and Thorin could be together and not worry about discovery. If their time together was coming to an end, and even if that end was forever, they would make sure they spent every moment as if it were their last.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> âzyungel – love of loves  
> Khathuzh mahhubmu – Elf Shit  
> mahabrûf – to breed (F—K)  
> Tharkûn – Dwarrow name for Gandalf
> 
> Winterfilth – The tenth month of the Hobbit Calendar. (It extends from about the 22 September to 21 October of the modern era.) Frodo arrived on the 24th and the Council of Elrond was one day later. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Middle-earth_calendar
> 
>  
> 
>  **Bilbo’s Last Adventure**  
>  According to the written Lord Of The Rings, Bilbo left Bag End in 3001 after his birthday party with three, unnamed Dwarfs and traveled to Rivendell to rest and then traveled on to Dale. After visiting Dale for an undisclosed length of time, he returned to Rivendell in 3002 to settle permanently. It gives no reason for the journey nor does not explain why Bilbo didn’t go on to Erebor.  
> Bilbo truly did live for 17 years away from The Shire before the events in LOTR, and as a matter of interest, Frodo was actually the same age as Bilbo, fifty, when he started on his journey.  
> ** As I have tried my best to marry the books, movies and my own ideas, I must tell you it is completely my own making that Bilbo meets the Dwarfs in Rivendell, their relationships and names, his journeying with them to see King Bain (who he did know as a child), his visit by King Dain II while there and spending the long winter in Dale. ** 
> 
> **The Fellowship's departure**  
>  According to Tolkien canon, the Council of Elrond was on 10/25/3018, but the Fellowship didn’t leave Rivendell until exactly two months later on 12/25/3018.


	12. Good-bye, My Precious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end has come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Hobbit Months**  
>  Rethe – third month of the Hobbit Calendar (I have used the Hobbit calendar because the Elves do not have months but seasons, which do not match up to the months used by Tolkien).

 

            When the Fellowship left that bright, winter morning, Bilbo was there to wish them luck. The guilt he felt for bringing this upon his dear nephew was still there, but Frodo had assured Bilbo, even if the elderly Hobbit had agreed to go, Frodo would have accompanied him anyway, and had Bilbo fallen—which almost everyone was in agreement would happen, Frodo would have taken up the mantel and completed the task anyway. The only difference in this way, was that Bilbo would remain safe in Rivendell and Frodo would complete the quest as it was meant to be. It didn’t sit well with the stubborn Hobbit but Bilbo could not deny it was all the truth.

            For weeks, there was no word. Bilbo had hope that there would be something—anything, to alert them all of the progress of the Fellowship. However, as Lord Elrond pointed out, it was too great a risk for the company to send out any sort of missive, lest the enemy intercept the information and follow it back to questing group. The fact that the world was not covered in darkness and that the forces of evil did not advance everywhere at once was clue enough that The One Ring remained hidden from Sauron and the Fellowship was still moving forward.

            It was only in mid-Rethe that the first message of the War came. A swift rider brought news of the Battle of the Hornburg and Rohan’s ultimate victory against the army of Isengard and Saruman. Shocked as they were at Saruman’s further betrayal, it was a relief to know that the Rohirrim had won.

            The note did not give specifics but there were odd, cryptic clues within that told Lord Elrond that Gandalf himself was present, as where Aragon, Gimli and Legolas. No clue spoke of the others and Bilbo began to worry that something had gone wrong. It was Lord Elrond that, again, pointed out that there was no indication that The Ring had fallen into enemy hands and that the missive should not be looked at too deeply beyond who was there. Thorin also told Bilbo that while he was not tied to Sauron, he was sure that he would feel something if The Ring had been claimed, to which Lord Elrond agreed.

            They could only sit back and wait—which didn’t turn out to be long.

            Just over a week later, a message form the scouts of Lothlorien reported that while the armies of Mordor were preparing to move against Minas Tirith, a large army of Easterlings were advancing northward. This was troubling news indeed.

            Gloin had already mentioned at Elrond’s Council that a black rider of Mordor had already visited Erebor twice, seeking any information regarding Hobbits; what they were and where they lived—in particular the rider wished any further information on a Hobbit named Baggins. Furthermore, Sauron’s messenger promised the “friendship” of Mordor as well as the return of the remaining three Dwarrow Rings of Power in exchange for the information they wanted. This alarmed all present but Gloin assured them that Dain had refused to give any information; as had King Brand when the same request for information was presented to the City of Dale. King Dain refused to give any information outright, not only because he mistrusted the promises of Sauron the Deceiver but because he would brook no betrayal of Bilbo Baggins; King Brand stated much the same. Dain merely wanted to stall the rider for as long as possible, but most agreed that Sauron would not wait forever and they were sure that another attempt at information would be sought before the Fellowship left on their quest. After which, if the third request went unanswered, War would come to the lonely mountain.

            With the Lothlorien report in hand, it seemed that the worst was to come and Dale and Erebor would be attacked. Clearly the refusal of both Dale and Erebor not only angered the Dark Lord but signaled that the two kingdoms were united against Mordor—something Sauron would never tolerate. Missives were sent immediately via ravens to Erebor to warn of the attack and have the Men and Dwarrow prepare for War.

            Then, on the fifteenth day of the third month, word came that Sauron’s forces out of Dol Guldur split and both Mirkwood and Lothlorien were attacked. Mirkwood was set ablaze while Lothlorien was holding back the invaders.

            Not two days later, came ravens from Erebor—The Lonely Mountain was under siege. Thanks to the warnings however, Dale had been emptied of civilians and they were given refuge within Erebor.   The combined armies of both Kingdoms were outnumbered four-to-one against the might of the Easterlings but still they fought to defend themselves. Dale was sadly in ruins but its people remained safe within the mountain.

            Three days later, news came that the Dwarrow and Men had had to retreat and were now holed-up within Erebor itself. While they fought bravely and reduced the Easterlings to half of their original two-hundred-thousand strong army, the amount of dead for the allied Dwarf/Men army was high—almost twenty-thousand of their fifty-thousand combined numbers. And it was with a heavy heart that Bilbo and Thorin learned of Dain’s death, while he defended his fallen friend, King Brand of Dale.

            Throughout the months of the War, Bilbo and Thorin spent all their time together. Bilbo refused to leave Thorin’s side and had remained in his room so that Thorin could be seen at anytime. Lord Elrond and/or his daughter, Arwen, were the only ones to visit so as not expose Thorin’s presence.

            Bilbo refused to talk about the end of The Ring, and Thorin agreed so not to upset Bilbo. Their nights were filled with caresses and touches, as well as whispered words of love and affection, both secretly fearing that the end could come at anytime.

            After the battle and siege of Dale and the battle on the fields before Minas Tirith, neither of them could know just how near the end was.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

**_03/25/3019_ **

****

            The weather was beautiful, and the valley stretched out before him like a river of trees. Bilbo loved his balcony and he used it to drink in the sights and sounds of Imladris that, for him, were as soothing as any draught he could think of. Even Thorin had grown to enjoy their time there, but Bilbo was convinced that it was due more to his own presence than the sight of the valley—but then he wasn’t going to complain at all.

            Arwen was with them, having brought a tray of tea and refreshments for the Hobbit and herself. Thorin had grown fond of the Elf maiden as he found her to be intelligent and insightful as well as lyrical during discussions of music and art. Currently Thorin was sitting with the Lady and speaking of music.

            Bilbo was thrilled to have them all so close and he had gotten use to them being altogether. In a strange way, they had become a family of sorts and more than once Bilbo had wondered what it would have been like if Thorin and he had had the chance to have their own family. Bilbo might have adopted Frodo much sooner, the three of them living as one unit. For not the first time, Bilbo could see Thorin and Frodo—as a fauntling—together, the little Hobbit cuddled against his Dwarf uncle’s chest while the latter read bedtime stories or told of quests and adventures, and Bilbo puttered around in the kitchen. It was a bittersweet fantasy and Bilbo was well aware that it would make him sad, but he cherished it all the same—the life that could have been.

            Just as Bilbo walked over to join Arwen and Thorin, the doors to his chambers opened and Lord Elrond entered with a few parchments in his hand.

            “I have received word,” Elrond said as he came out onto the balcony. “The Rohirrim arrived and together with the remaining Gondorian forces and the Dead Army of Dunharrow, have defeated the legions of Sauron and driven the horde back into Mordor.”

            Bilbo smiled. “That is excellent news!” After the battle of Dale, Bilbo wanted to hear good news.

            “What of the Fellowship,” Thorin asked.

            “Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas,” Elrond continued, “have all survived, as have Pippin Took and Merry Brandybuck. Although, I am sad to report, Merry was badly injured,” Bilbo made a small gasp, but Elrond rushed to say, “They do expect him to make a full recovery.”

            Bilbo released a sigh and Thorin stood to wrap a comforting arm around his love.

            “Be proud of your kin, Bilbo Baggins,” Elrond stated with a smile. “It states here that he accompanied and assisted a shield maiden of Rohan in her vanquishing of The Witch King.”

            Bilbo’s jaw dropped and Arwen let loose a small laugh of amazement.

            “That is extraordinary,” Thorin could only shake his head as he remembered the carefree young Hobbit that only a few months earlier reminded him of his nephews.

            “I have to wonder,” Elrond said with a mirth-filled smile, “if Hobbits will ever cease to amaze us.”

            “Never underestimate Hobbits,” Bilbo said with pride.

            “Clearly,” Arwen added.

            “I learned that lesson long ago,” Thorin said, placing a kiss on his love’s curly-haired head and then turning to Lord Elrond. “Is there word of Gondor’s next move?”         

            “According to the missive,” Elrond said, “the battle was ten days prior to today and at the time of the victory they planned to march on Mordor itself. Given the time for preparations needed for such an assault and the length of time for the missive to be delivered, I would hazard a guess that they are marching on the Black Gates today or tomorrow.”

            Bilbo and Thorin exchanged a somber look. If Lord Elrond’s guess was right and the armies were indeed marching on Sauron as they spoke, it would mean the end was coming near. No word passed between them and Thorin moved to carry on the conversation.

            “What of word from Erebor?” Thorin inquired.

            “There is little change so far,” Elrond said, holding up another parchment. “The new kings, Thorin III and Bard II, are still within the mountain and holding back any attempt by the Easterlings to enter Erebor.”

            “That’s good news,” Thorin said, “If they can just—”

            Suddenly there was great noise like distant thunder and the entire valley seemed to roll with the heaving of the earth. Bilbo rushed to the railing just as a shockwave passed and blew way what few wispy clouds there were in the sky.

            “Bilbo,” came Thorin’s raspy voice behind him and Bilbo turned to see the Dwarf spirit had been thrown to the ground and was now struggling to stand.

            “Thorin!” Bilbo ran forward and stuck out a hand to assist Thorin, only to find that their hands passed through each other.

            Bilbo was helpless—he could only watch as Thorin slowly got to his feet, his spirit form was beginning to waver and lose its shape as if it were made of vapor or smoke.

            “No, Thorin—no!” Bilbo couldn’t breath; his lungs would not work and he was sure his heart would stop.

            Thorin seemed to struggle to remain upright and his face betrayed the pain and anguish he was feeling.

            _“Bilbo,”_ the spirit said like a whisper on the wind. _“My love.”_

“Thorin – Thorin, please stay with me!”

_“Bilbo—âyung zu akhùthuzhur—ghelekh-serêj, mahamnâr.”_

            All at once, Thorin’s form dissolved and the tendrils of mist dissipated like vapor in the wind.

            Thorin was gone.

            The blood rushed in his ears and Bilbo could only stand there and stare at the empty space where once his love stood. Slowly he turned and stared at Lord Elrond whose wide-eyes and slack jaw were the only evidence of his astonishment. Arwen held a hand to her mouth as tears ran from her closed eyes.

            Bilbo looked at Elrond and didn’t need to ask the only question on his mind.

            “I am sorry, Bilbo,” Elrond said softly. “I can sense nothing of Thorin.”

            It was the last thing Bilbo heard as the darkness rose up and he crumpled to the ground.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            For three days and two nights Bilbo lay in his bed—their bed. Other than his hands and feet, he did not move but stayed on his side, upper arm stretched out as if reaching for someone that was not there. He spoke to no one, merely nodded or shrugged when asked questions or else closed his eyes and ignored queries altogether. He took almost no food and despite being in bed, rarely slept. Arwen sat with him each night, in hopes of any response, but by the time the third night settled in, Lord Elrond had had enough.

            “Master Baggins,” Elrond said sitting on the bed behind the Hobbit. “I want you to drink this.” He held in his hand a cup of cool, clear liquid.

            Bilbo’s only response was to blink a few times but otherwise there was no indication that he had even heard the Elven Lord. But Elrond was not giving up.

            “Bilbo,” Elrond tried again. “Please, sit up and drink this.”

            When there was still no reply to Elrond’s request, Arwen tried the one thing she hoped would rouse Bilbo from his torpor.

            “Bilbo,” Arwen whispered gently. “Thorin would not want you to give up.”

            Bilbo slowly lifted his head and looked at the Elf maiden with a perplexed, almost unfocused look. He didn’t say anything but he shook his head and made to sit up. It took a few minutes but finally Bilbo was sitting up and leaning against the fair lady, as she supported the weakened Hobbit.

            Elrond pressed the cup into Bilbo’s hand and urged him to drink it—all of it.

            “What is it?” Bilbo asked in a raspy voice.

            “It will give you a dreamless, but complete sleep,” Elrond replied. “You should wake in the morning feeling refreshed.”

            Bilbo nodded and drank the draught down in one gulp. It tasted slightly medicinal but there was a hint of mint and chamomile as well so it wasn’t all bad. He handed the now empty cup back to Lord Elrond and before his head hit the pillow, Bilbo was asleep.

            There was the sensation of floating, as if the he were being carried on the air, light as a feather and cool as an autumn breeze. There was nothing there but the cocooning blackness surrounding him and it was comforting rather than disconcerting. Down and down and down he drifted until there were no cares, no worries, no thoughts to speak of, until he heard sounds.

 

            _Bilbo could hear birds singing and there was the cool sound of water—not the roar of a waterfall, not the rushing of a great river, but the gentle flow of a slow moving tributary. He would even swear he could smell trees and flowers._

            _“Bilbo,” a deep, rumbling voice whispered. “My love.”_

_Oh, yes, he knew that voice. “Thorin?”_

_“Yes, my sweet.”_

_“Where are you?”_

_“I am right here.”_

_“But where is_ here _?”_

_“I am right before you.”_

_“But I can’t see you. I can’t see anything.”_

_“Open your eyes.”_

_And slowly, Bilbo opened his eyes and the bright light blinded him for a moment. His hands came up; shielding his vision until it adjusted, then finally he pulled away his hands and saw his one true love standing before him._

_“Thorin.” Bilbo’s heart swelled at the sight. “Where are we?” Bilbo looked around and saw trees and a small, rocky inlet of a river._

_“Do you not remember this place?”_

_Bilbo looked around and sudden realization hit him. “It is the bathing spot near the Carrock.”_

_Thorin smiled. “Yes, my love. It is.”_

_Bilbo walked forward and took Thorin’s hands in his own. “This is where you first told me you loved me.”_

_Thorin nodded, and then removed one hand from Bilbo’s so that he could gently brush the curls off Bilbo’s forehead._

_“You have been unhappy, my burglar.”_

_Bilbo could only nod in agreement._

_“I am sorry for that.”_

_“I miss you so terribly.”_

_“I know that you do, as I do you,” Thorin said as he cupped Bilbo’s face and ghosted a thumb across his cheek. “But do not forget to live.”_

_“How can I live without you?”_

_“You will. You must.”_

_“I see no point.”_

_“Do it for me, Bilbo. Promise me.”_

_Bilbo didn’t answer, he merely leaned into Thorin’s touch._

_“Promise me, you will live for me—if only for me.”_

_Finally Bilbo nodded in consent. “For you, I promise.”_

_Thorin smiled and leaned forward to press a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead. “Until the end of time I will love you, my Hobbit. Never doubt that.” Thorin pulled Bilbo closer and brought their foreheads together._

_“I will love you, always, Thorin.”_

_“In all my life, my greatest achievement was the blessing of your heart.”_

_Bilbo felt himself drawn into a warm embrace and there he stayed until the darkness rose up and he was drifting once more through the blackness._

 

            When he woke, Bilbo remembered nothing.

            The sun was shining and someone had brought in a tray of food, placing it on the table out on the balcony where he and Thorin loved to spend their mornings. Taking a chair and sitting, Bilbo saw that there was a giant pot of tea, scones and toast, hard-boiled eggs—just as Thorin liked them, a few thick bacon strips and a fat jar of raspberry preserves—Thorin’s favorite.

            There was a knock on the door and Bilbo turned in his chair to see Lady Arwen enter and cross over to join him at the balcony table.

            “How are you feeling this morning, Master Baggins?” Arwen asked as she took the chair Bilbo indicated next to him.

            “I feel fine,” Bilbo said with a smile and he meant it. “Very refreshed.”

            “That is good news,” Arwen smile as she poured herself some tea. “I hoped that Adar’s draught would help you.”

            Bilbo looked her confused. “What draught?”

            Arwen put her cup down and returned Bilbo’s gaze. “Do you not remember father giving you a draught last night, to help you sleep?”

            Bilbo thought about it, tried to recall anything. “No. Not at all.”

            Arwen looked puzzled. “Do you remember the last few days.”

            Bilbo again thought hard. “To tell you the truth, not really.” Bilbo took a sip of tea. “What happened?”

            “The Ring was destroyed,” Arwen said gently, waiting for a response. “The War is over for the most part.”

            “Oh, well,” Bilbo said with a sigh. “That is such a relief! Have we heard from Frodo?”

            “He is recovering in Minas Thirith. And all of the Fellowship, save Boromir survived.”

            “So sad to hear of Boromir’s passing, but I’m glad for the others,” Bilbo said now buttering some toast. “I can’t wait for Frodo to be back safe.”

            Arwen nodded in agreement. “About, Master Oakenshield—” she started but was cut off.

            “Oh, yes!” Bilbo said, getting up and reaching for the teapot. “Thank you for reminding me! I must make him a cup.”

            Arwen sat still as she watched the elderly Hobbit pour and prepare a cup of tea and place it in front of the empty chair that was once used by the Dwarf-king’s spirit.

            “I have no idea where he is this morning,” Bilbo said casually, not catching the worried look on the lady’s face. “Probably off wandering the gardens. He should be here soon I would imagine.”

            “You poured him tea?” Arwen asked, clearly attempting to keep alarm out of her voice.

            “Well, I know he can’t drink it,” Bilbo said with a laugh. “But he likes to hold the cup; says it make him feel alive.”

            Bilbo went back to his breakfast and sat there humming to himself. He was completely oblivious to Lady Arwen’s pained look of concern for him. It was then that she decided that if a cup of tea set in front of an empty chair reserved for a lover who would never appear again brought comfort to an elderly Hobbit, who was so clearly and heartbreakingly lost in his despair, then who was she to question it?

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuz-dul Translations**  
>  âyung zu akhùthuzhur = I love you, for all eternity  
> ghelekh-serêj, mahamnâr = good-bye, my precious
> 
>  **Sindarin Translations**  
>  Adar - father


	13. Hanâm Khazad-dûmul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanâm Khazad-dûmul = Letters of Moria

 

 **_10/05/3019_ ** **_–_ ** **_09:23 am_ **

**_RIVENDELL_ **

 

            He had a mission to complete and it wasn’t pleasant. He had made excuses, put it off and now, he was out of time. It had to be today, it had to be now and it had to be him.

            “Are you sure you aren't wanting me to come along, Mister Frodo?” Sam asked quietly.

            “Yes, Sam,” Frodo said with a gentle smile. “This is truly a quest I must complete alone.”

            “I could be there for support,” Sam offered. “I won’t be saying a word.”

            “It’ll be fine, Sam,” Frodo insisted. “Don’t worry.”

            Sam nodded and looked at the ground; the look of dejection was almost enough for Frodo to give in. It never felt good when Sam wore that look but Frodo knew that it would be sad enough for just him and Bilbo, he didn’t want to add Sam in the mix.

            Frodo walked the Elven corridors of Rivendell towards Bilbo’s rooms. He would look there first, then in Master Elrond’s garden—Bilbo sometimes took second breakfast there—and then finally he would check Bilbo’s private garden, if needed. As he walked along he looked around and admired the decorations and the general atmosphere. It had been such a balm to be here after The Ring, the quest, and his recovery—not that Minas Tirith, or Edoras had been unpleasant, but Rivendell just felt like a soothing dream.

            But this morning, not even Rivendell could totally distract him from what he had to do. At first there was their arrival and settling in; sad news could wait. Then they had celebrated Bilbo’s one-hundred-and-twenty-ninth birthday—he didn’t want to bring up unhappy things either before or just after. Then were the preparations to return to The Shire. And now, here it was the very day they had to go; and in fact they were leaving within an hour and Frodo was going to have to lay the sadness in Bilbo’s lap and then depart. Almost seemed cowardly—and maybe, in a way, it was.

            Frodo now wished he _had_ brought Sam—but too late to go back now.

            Frodo knocked on Bilbo’s door and wait a few beats. He knocked again and was about to turn the handle when the door opened.

            “Frodo!” Gandalf said.

            “Good morning, Gandalf,” Frodo said and just as Gandalf was opening his mouth to respond, Frodo held up a hand to stop him. “And I mean ‘good morning’ in all the possible ways one can think of.”

            Gandalf chuckled out loud. “In that case, do come in my dear boy.” Gandalf stepped aside to allow Frodo to enter. “Your uncle is just enjoying his breakfast on the balcony.”

            Frodo walked to the large, wide balcony that overlooked the valley and there he found his Uncle sitting in a Hobbit sized chair with an enormous tray on the table in front of him. There was tea, of course, and toast, but mostly vegetables and hard-boiled eggs. As he had aged, while he still had his seven meals a day, Bilbo had begun to eat less; had to stay trim he would say—one never knew when an adventure would come along. No one, but especially Frodo, was going to point out that Bilbo had not left the Valley of Imladris for seventeen years.

            “Good morning, Uncle,” Frodo said as he came around Bilbo’s chair and into the elderly Hobbit’s sight.

            “Frodo, my boy!” Bilbo greeted him.

            It was too difficult for Bilbo to get up but Frodo didn’t care about such things; he simply leaned down and placed a kiss on his Uncle’s balding head and took a chair next to him.

            “Are you all ready to go?” Bilbo asked as he sipped his tea.

            “Pretty much,” Frodo nodded. “Sam in particular is ready to be home.

            “I am sure you all are,” Bilbo said with a nod. “But do remind Sam what I told him about Rosie.”

            “I will, Uncle,” Frodo replied. “I promise.”

            “Good,” Bilbo sighed. “Life is dreadfully painful to suffer without love.”

            “I can only imagine,” Frodo said.

            “You might want to think of settling down yourself,” Bilbo commented playfully. “Maybe find yourself someone worthy to have a family with. A good loyal Dwarf would be nice.” Bilbo seemed lost in his thoughts and muttered, “Too bad Gimli is so taken with that Legolas fellow.”

            Frodo laughed out loud. Leave it to Uncle Bilbo to still surprise him after all these years. “A Dwarf?! Couldn’t you just see Aunt Lobelia’s face?” Frodo couldn’t help but laugh at that mental picture, not to mention the idea of him and Gimli as a couple. “I couldn’t even _imagine_ marrying a Dwarf!”

            Frodo was laughing too hard to hear Bilbo whisper sadly, “I could.”

            It was a few minutes before things settled down again. Frodo looked over and caught Gandalf’s eye, who was leaning on the doorframe watching the two Hobbits, and realized that the time had come. Suddenly, Frodo was glad that Gandalf was here at least.

            “Uncle,” Frodo said quietly. “There is something I have to tell you.”

            “Oh,” Bilbo looked perplexed and took another sip of tea. “What haven’t you already told me?”

            “It’s something about my journey.”

            “Something that happened?”

            “It is more about a place we went to.”

            Gandalf stiffened and stood tall. He didn’t interrupt or say anything but he stepped forward and stood behind Bilbo, with his hands resting on the back of Bilbo’s chair.

            “What place is that?” Bilbo asked.

            Frodo took a deep breath. “Moria.”

            Bilbo’s breath hitched a tiny bit. “Did you see any of my old friends?”

            “In a way,” Frodo hated doing this and he looked at Gandalf for guidance, but the Wizard simply nodded for Frodo to continue.

            _“In a way?”_ Bilbo looked confused. “What way was that?”

            Frodo took another deep breath and readied himself. “We found the tomb of Balin.”

            “Oh, dear,” Bilbo sighed sadly and deflated a bit. “What of the others?”

            “Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo said. “I’m sorry to tell you that they all perished.”

            Bilbo turned away, released a shaky breath and made to stand. Gandalf reached over and steadied the Hobbit but then Bilbo slowly walked over to the balcony’s railing and remained there for some time.

            Frodo was worried, should he go and comfort his Uncle? Should he leave him be? He wasn’t sure what to do, but as usual, Gandalf seemed to know his dilemma.

            “Frodo,” Gandalf whispered in the young Hobbit’s ear. “Why don’t you go and continue to get ready. Give your Uncle time.”

            Frodo was unsure but he nodded, deciding to trust in Gandalf and left to find Sam and the others. They all wanted to know how Bilbo had taken the news and were saddened to hear it had gone poorly. Of course, none of them had really expected that the news would be received gladly.

            The Hobbits made a last sweep of their rooms and then grabbed their packs. Their ponies were down in the courtyard with Gandalf’s Horse. They made a striking compliment, what with Frodo and Sam in Elvish garments, Merry dressed as a Knight of Rohan and Pippin wearing his Gondorian Guard uniform—they wondered what the other Hobbits would do or say. It made them giggle really just thinking about it.

            They turned and saw Lord Elrond, Gandalf, and Uncle Bilbo. The four Hobbits hugged and wished Bilbo well but Frodo could see that there was something off in Bilbo’s eyes. The elderly Hobbit smiled and returned their wishes but there was a vague, almost misty quality to his gaze.

            As the four went to mount Bilbo’s voice stopped Frodo.

            “Don’t forget, my lad,” Bilbo called out. “Write to Balin and thank him for hosting you.”

            The entire courtyard fell to silence and Frodo could only stare; unsure what to say.

            “Oh,” Bilbo added, totally oblivious to quiet about him. “When you write, have Balin tell Ori to send me a letter, will you? That little scamp hasn’t written me yet!” Bilbo laughed as if it was a great joke. “I’m sure he’s busy but he can take a few minutes to send off a raven.”

            Frodo was growing concerned now. “Uncle—” was all Frodo got out before Gandalf spoke up.

            “I am sure Frodo will remember, Bilbo,” Gandalf gave the Frodo and the others a look that said ‘stay quiet.’

            “Yes, as am I,” Bilbo said with a proud smile to Frodo. “He’s a good lad.”

            “Why don’t we retire to your garden,” Lord Elrond suggested.

            “That’s a lovely idea,” Bilbo replied. “Tea for three would be nice.”

            Lord Elrond motioned for another elf to bring tea for three and then gently guided Bilbo away towards the garden grounds.

            Frodo could only stand there and stare. It had been a very unnerving experience and when he glanced at his companions, he saw that they too were concerned and confused.

            “Gandalf,” Frodo started but was stopped by Gandalf.

            “Frodo,” Gandalf said, “You mustn’t upset yourself.” Gandalf glanced back to see where Bilbo was and seemed pleased that the elderly Hobbit and Elf-lord had turned a corner and were out of sight.

            “But what was that about, Gandalf?” Frodo asked.

            “I thought Frodo told him about Moria?” Merry asked.

            “I did!” Frodo said.

            “Then why did he ask you to write them?” Pippin interjected.

            “No clue,” Frodo replied.

            “I’d an old Aunt couldn’t remember what you told ‘er from one day to the next,” Sam offered with a shake of the head. “T’was a shame really.”

            “I’m afraid,” Gandalf said holding up a hand to quiet the rest. “Our good Sam here is right. Lord Elrond told me that Bilbo has started having episodes of dementia and forgetting.” There came a sad, almost pained, look into the wizard’s eyes. “Sometimes, like today, when something is too painful, he seems to forget it completely.”

            “Can anything be done?” Frodo was willing to do whatever he could or was needed.

            “Sadly, no,” Gandalf answered. “Just love and accept him as he is. In time, he may remember what you told him, after his mind has had time to come to terms.”

            Frodo could only nod. He wasn’t any healer. There wasn’t anything for him to do. And he was sure that if anyone in the world could assist or cure or treat his uncle, it would be the Elves. Uncle Bilbo was exactly where he needed to be.

            The five friends mounted their steeds and slowly rode out of Rivendell. Frodo of course couldn’t help but think of the lost Dwarrow of Moria and that small dark voice inside of him wondered how much longer until his dear uncle went to join them on the other side.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

****

****

**_10/05/3019_ ** **_–_ ** **_08:13 pm_ **

**_EREBOR_ **

****

            There was so much activity, that the mountain nearly hummed. There were feasts and celebrations of all kinds in the last few days because Gimli, son of Gloin, had returned! Many wanted to see and hear from one of the heroes of the War of the Ring; wanted to know of the battles, wanted to hear of Sauron’s defeat and the battle at the Black Gate, wanted to hear of all the flame-haired Dwarf’s great deeds— _did you really run all the way across Rohan?—_ wanted to hear of Frodo and the other Hobbits, as that race still held such a place in the hearts of Ereborean Dwarrow, thanks in no small part to Frodo’s uncle, Bilbo Baggins.

            There were feasts in honor the survivors, the dead—especially for Kings Dain and Brand, feasts to celebrate the continued ties between Dale and Erebor, feasts to celebrate victory, life, family, the warriors, the peace; just name it and some guild, ministry, clan or section of the populous was having a celebration. One couldn’t step outside their own home or quarters and not get swept up in the excitement and festivities. And all of these were given in Gimli’s great name and honor.

            Of course, Dwalin stayed firmly entrenched in his chambers. He had great respect for young Gimli, as he had for Gloin, Gimli’s father. He was proud to not only be related to the lad, but to have also had a hand in his training. But Dwalin had seen enough death and destruction to know that if you simply take away the ale, all the celebrating was hollow and empty. Only the alcohol could really make one forget—and even then it was only while the drunkenness lasted. He didn’t begrudge those that wanted to cheer and shout of victory and celebrate life; far from it. It’s just that he rarely had the desire to celebrate and cheer.

            Not since Ori left.

            Dwalin poured himself another tankard of his personal stock of ale and sat by the fire. It was roaring and yet, it still did not completely warm him. He hoped the ale would help in that, but deep down, he knew better; whenever he thought of his Ori, nothing warmed him.

            There were little more than memories left to remind him of his love. He had moved from their house to his current one room apartment—he couldn’t stay there after Ori was gone. What books hadn’t been taken, Dwalin gave to the library, and there was no artwork, no knitting needles or yarn. Nori had taken what clothes Ori left behind. The only items Dwalin still had were the large knitted afghan Ori gifted him on their final anniversary, and an old, worn out pair of hand warmers—the _first gift_ Ori ever gave him. Those he would never part with; they were to be buried with him.

            As he sat staring into the fire, firm steady knocks on the door pulled him from his thoughts.

            “Enter,” Dwalin called out; he saw no reason to get up.

            The door swung open and revealed the last person he expected to be there; Gimli, the Dwarf of the hour.

            “May I speak with you, Master Dwalin?” Gimli said stepping slightly over the threshold.

            “Gimli!” Dwalin stood to greet the red-haired Dwarf. “Of course! Come in. I am honored you have come.” To this day, it still amazed Dwalin how much Gimli looked like his father.

            Gimli smiled a bit, clearly uncomfortable with the compliment. “I am just a simple Dwarf m’lord, nothing more.”

            “Don’t play daft with me, boy,” Dwalin said with a small chuckle. “You helped save Middle-Earth and have done your father and people proud; that is no small thing.”

            Gimli smiled but looked down, still not comfortable.

            Dwalin lifted his tankard then asked, “May I offer you something to drink, or eat?”

            “No, thank you, sir,” Gimli said quietly but he added no more.

            Dwalin nodded and took a drink of his own and waited, but Gimli was not forthcoming and it seemed to Dwalin that he would have to break the silence himself. “So, what has brought Gloin’s son to see me tonight?” Dwalin asked, intrigued and gesturing for Gimli to take the chair opposite him. “You could be attending any number of feasts right now; all in your honor.”

            “True,” Gimli conceded as he took the offered chair. “However—,” Gimli voice trailed off and it wouldn’t have taken a half-blind Orc to see the Dwarf was reluctant to speak.

            “If you have something to say, don’t be shy, lad,” Dwalin said with a chuckle. “Mahal knows you’ve never been one to hold back!”

            Gimli chuckled as well, glancing at the great warrior, but he only held the gaze for a minute before turning and staring into the fire as Dwalin had been doing. The silence stretched and Dwalin would have been annoyed had he not had a strange, prickling feeling at the back of his neck. _What in the name of the Maker could be so hard to say?_

“Master Dwalin,” Gimli said after a deep breath. “I—uhm—I mean—there’s something—”

            “Gimli,” Dwalin said with a sigh. “If it is so difficult, why not tell me another time?”

            “I can’t do that,” Gimli said quickly.

            “Well, surely it can wait,” Dwalin stated with a shrug of one shoulder. “Perhaps tomorrow evening?”

            “No,” Gimli said firmly and with resolve. “It is something you must know; something that only I should tell you, and yet I do not know how to start—I take no pleasure in the telling.”

            The prickling feeling spread. “Now you must tell me,” Dwalin said.

            Gimli nodded but did not look directly at the older warrior, before he began to speak.

            “When we started our quest,” Gimli started, “part of our first stretch was to take us over Baranzibar, but the Wizard Saruman sent a fierce snowstorm and we had to turn back.” Gimli took a deep breath. “A couple of us offered other options, other routes, to continue our trek, but the _choice of path_ was given over to the ring-bearer, Frodo Baggins—who bade us to go through Khazad-dûm, at my own suggestion.”

            “Oh, Gimli,” Dwalin cringed. “Why would you take them there?” Even if the separatists allowed them passage, the Fellowship wouldn’t have felt much welcome.

            “My hope,” Gimli answered, “was that Balin would understand our mission and I prayed that seeing all of us together would show them that there was good in all races.”

            “Was it as you hoped then?” Dwalin thought he knew the answer.

            Gimli shook his head. “No, it was worse than anything I could imagine.” Gimli’s voice went down to almost a whisper and the Dwarf said no more as he was obviously lost in thought.

            “I hope they didn’t attack you?” It would have been unthinkable for his brother to order an attack on another Dwarrow or group of defenseless Hobbits but Dwalin wouldn’t have been surprised either.

            “No, Master Dwalin,” Gimli said quietly. “There was no attack, but there was no greeting either.” Gimli turned to look at Dwalin with bright, tear filled eyes. “The colony had been destroyed but four years after its founding.”

            It was several long moments until Dwalin realized that he wasn’t breathing and the prickling feeling turned to numbness as it spread over him like cold water; he heard wrong, he knew he must have heard wrong—it kept repeating in his head but something whispered darkly in the back of mind that there was no lie in Gimli’s voice.

            “Survivors?” Dwalin had to ask but he already knew.

            Gimli shook his head and looked down at his boots.

            “Does Nori know?” Dwalin asked.

            “Yes,” Gimli said quietly. “I saw him just before I came to see you.”

            His old friends Loni, Frar, Nali, Oin—were gone; his brother off to the Halls. Oh and by all that Mahal had made, his Ori, his sweet, beautiful, precious Ori—the only being that held his heart, the only one that made his life worth living, was dead; dead and had died alone in that damned, forsaken pit!

            “Leave me,” Dwalin said trying to keep his voice steady.

            “Master Dwalin,” Gimli started.

            “I said leave me!” Dwalin spat out and turned his face away from the other Dwarf.

            His worst nightmares had come true; his greatest fears were realized—there would be no reunion in this world, his arms would never hold Ori again, he would never hear Ori whisper his name or confessions of love.

            Never again would his heart be whole.

            All he could do now was wait and hope—wait for the hours to stop ticking by, wait for his days to come to an end, wait for his life to give out completely and hope that Ori would be waiting for him on the other side.

            Gimli stood but stayed by the chair. “There is one other thing.”

            Dwalin turned back and snarled. “WHAT MORE CAN THERE BE IF THEY’RE DEAD!” His heart was breaking and his grief mingled with rage.

            “We found the colony’s record book,” Gimli said softly, letting the implication of finding its author left unsaid. “When I brought the book back to Erebor two days ago, the scribes discovered a hidden pocket in the back cover.” Gimli reached into his tunic and pulled out an envelope. “This was inside; it’s addressed to you.”

            Gimli laid the parchment envelope down on the chair he had been sitting in then turned and quietly left.

            Dwalin could only stare—he knew whose writing was on it. For all that his heart ached to rip it open, part of him didn’t want to touch it; for the first time in his life he was afraid. In the end though, he reached over and gently picked up the fragile parchment, seeing his formal name, _Dwalin Fundinul,_ on the front in Ori’s perfectly written Cirth. Dwalin turned the already treasured item over, finding that it was not fully sealed and he gently pulled out the letter inside.

            It was then that his heart shattered completely.

 

 

_Dwalin-sanâzyung,_

_By the time you read this—if you ever read it—I will have long since passed on to the Halls of Waiting._

_I will not ask for forgiveness, for I do not deserve your absolution._

_I will not ask for you to think of me, for I do not deserve your consideration._

_But as my time draws near and my life comes to its close, it is only you that I can think of–regardless of how unworthy I am of you._

_You are no coward, you never were—it was I who was the coward._

_You deserved so much more than someone like me, so much more than what little I had to offer._

_My only wish is that you found love again and you are happy._

_That is all I want for you, sanâzyung; to be happy._

_And though I no longer have the right, know that I still love you._

_Until the breaking of the world, I will continue to love you._

_I will always love you._

_Always._

_Ori._

            The letter and envelope fluttered to the floor and Dwalin buried his face in his hands; he didn’t care if anyone heard him weep long and bitterly for his One.

            In all the rest of his long years, no one ever asked why Dwalin, son of Fundin, never attended another celebration or feast, no one asked why in his off hours, he stayed alone in his quarters. Gimli and Nori understood, but only Dwalin really knew that he had nothing left in this world to celebrate.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuz-dul Translations**  
>  Hanâm Khazad-dûmul – Letters of Moria/Khazad-dûm  
> Sanâzyung – Perfect (true/pure) love (A Dwarf’s One)
> 
>  **The Record Book of Moria - The Book of Mazarbul**  
>  The colony’s record book that Gimli talked about is called, The Book of Mazarbul and was retrieved from Ori’s corpse by The Fellowship. In the novel, the book is given to Gimli who returns it to Erebor after the destruction of The Ring and end of the war. However, in Peter Jackson’s movie, the book remains behind.
> 
>  **Dwalin Fundinul (Dwalin, son of Fundin)**  
>  Dwalin lived a very long life, well over a third longer than the average Dwarf. He died in the year 91 of the Forth Age – at that time he was 340 years old and he had lived without his Ori for the last 122 years of his life.
> 
>  **Khazad-dûm (Moria or Dwarrowdelf)**  
>  Khazad-dûm was actually built under three mountains; Baranzibar, Bundushathûr and Zirakzigil. The main body of the kingdom was built under the greatest of the three, Zirakzigil and it was at it’s peak that the Dwarrow build Durin’s Tower – the location for the final battle between Gandalf the Grey and Durin’s Bane; the nameless Balrog. It was Baranzibar, or Caradhras that Gandalf tried to lead the Fellowship over until Saruman prevented it with a snowstorm.  
> Khuz-dul = Baranzibar, Bundushathûr and Zirakzigil  
> Sindarin = Caradhras, Fanuidhol and Celebdil  
> Westron = Red Horn, Cloudyhead and Silvertine.


	14. Sanâzyung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love never dies ....

 

_**09/29/3021** _

            If Frodo was glad of one thing, it was that they waited until Uncle’s last Birthday to leave. Though he was quite elderly and prone to increasing moments of senility, Bilbo was able to celebrate his one-hundredth-and-thirty-first birthday. He was declared the oldest Hobbit ever in Middle-Earth; a title that Frodo thought Uncle deserved.

            Naturally, there were some that disputed that title. The naysayers, Elves and Men mostly, liked to point out that Gollum actually held the title of oldest living Hobbit in Middle-Earth. Of course, if one where to make such a statement to a Dwarf, especially an Ereborean Dwarf, the speaker would most likely find their head in their hands—literally. The Dwarrow brooked no questions to Bilbo’s honor, and stated that Gollum’s life was only extended because of the evil that was The Ring and therefore his claim was forfeit—totally ignoring that Bilbo also held The Ring for sixty years, but the Dwarrow refused to be questioned on that.   Hobbits felt much the same way as the Dwarrow, but minus the decapitation.   Although, Hobbits of the Sackville-Baggins line did favor Gollum’s claim—if only stating so behind the privacy of their own doors.

            No, Bilbo was honored for his long life and in the end, for his position as Ring-bearer. So was Frodo for that matter.

            Shortly after Bilbo’s last birthday, just a week later as a matter of fact, Frodo went with Bilbo, Gandalf, Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel aboard a boat to Valinor. He was told it was a great honor and though he was sad to leave his Sam behind—the pain and burden The Ring left on his heart and soul had just become too much. Gandalf promised that while Frodo and Bilbo could never find immortality in Valinor, they would find peace in their last days.

            When asked, it was stated that Lord Celebron, Lady Galadriel’s husband, was staying behind to rule Lothlorien in her place, but most knew that it wouldn’t be long until he too journeyed west over the sea and joined his wife.

            Never one for water, Frodo had to admit that the journey was wonderful and the further they got from Middle-Earth, or was it the closer they got to Valinor, the weight of despair that he had carried since the loss of The Ring, slowly ebbed away. Even Bilbo seemed lighter and more jovial—although, never completely without a certain shadow of sadness that played in his eyes. Frodo wanted to ask about it, but Bilbo would blink and the shadow seemed to vanish.

            By the time they arrived on the white shores, the pain in Frodo’s heart was gone. True, his wound from the Witch King didn't healed—it never would they said, but it never again troubled him and his soul felt free. Bilbo, too, was happier and carefree, his senility seeming to vanish and his old limbs, while not completely steady, no longer ached or bothered him. It seemed that life was once again good, and Frodo wished it could stay as such—always.

            Sadly, such wishes never came true.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            There seemed to be so much activity earlier—if such a thing was possible with Elves. Healers came in and out and there were many who stopped by to visit and give their respects. But Bilbo was not up for visitors—he had so little in him really and in this late hour of the day, there were only Frodo and Gandalf left at his side.

            It wasn’t like this day, this time, _this moment_ was a surprise. If Frodo was honest, the only thing that really surprised him was that this hadn’t happened sooner. He and Uncle had had plenty of time to talk and prepare; make all the necessary arrangements and wishes known.

            Yet it was still odd in the same way that Yule was odd; Yule happened every year, on the same date and had done so for hundreds of years prior, but yet, why did it always seem to surprise them? No matter how much you plan and do and complete, at the last minute it all seemed a sneak up on you.

            Now, after arriving months earlier in Valinor and being reminded that mortals arriving here will remain mortal and continue to live out their remaining days until their life comes to a natural end; why should any of this come as any surprise?

            Frodo could only guess it was because Uncle Bilbo was leaving—for good; one last adventure into the mists. Very soon—possibly in no more than an hour or two, Uncle Bilbo would be gone.

            Frodo wasn’t afraid, nor was Bilbo, frankly, when they had talked several days before. Both had seen death and battle and creatures great and terrible. Bilbo had riddled with a dragon and stood against great Orcs; Frodo had faced the Wraiths and Shelob, not to mention basically facing down Sauron himself in the end. No, it wasn’t fear Frodo was feeling right now; it was closer to apprehension.

            What would life be like when his Uncle was gone?

            He was not sure, but Bilbo was ready. For the last couple of weeks, Uncle had made comments about being tired and wanting to leave. Still, Bilbo did seem to be apprehensive, even a little fearful about -- something.  From what few snippets Bilbo stated offhandedly, there was something he was very unsure of, something he seemed to think was 'lost' or 'gone forever.'  However, as with so much, Bilbo never really explained.

            _He looks so frail_ , Frodo thought.  Bilbo lay back on pillows in the too-big-for-him bed, his hands gently crossed on top of the white blanket—he looked at peace and the Elves had done everything in their power to make Bilbo comfortable. But even as he watched, Frodo could see Bilbo’s breaths becoming shallower and irregular over the course of the day and now there was a faint wheeze; Bilbo looked as pale as the white sheets he lay upon.

            It was a great comfort to have Gandalf, or Olórin as he was now called, there. Of course, he looked very little like he had when Frodo first met him—all clad in grey and wearing that ridiculous hat. Nor did he look as he had when reborn, resplendent in flowing white robes, hair and beard. They had not been on the white shores of Valinor a few moments when the disguise of old age had simply vanished and Gandalf was as he had been all those eons before— tall and slim with flowing blond hair and a handsome smooth face. It was only Gandalf’s eyes, those grey-blue eyes, that spoke of the long years the wizard had seen.

            Still, regardless of form or visage of age, he was still Gandalf and having him near now was comforting to Frodo.

            Night had descended as they kept their vigil at Bilbo’s bedside. Just after the moon rose, there were quiet footsteps beyond the closed doors. They did not seem hurried, nor did they seem to be casual in nature; others were approaching on a clearly determined trek to Bilbo’s room. Frodo looked up as the doors opened and was happy to see Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel enter, then close the doors behind them. They had both been so kind to Frodo and Bilbo and, while Frodo was sure they must have more important things to attend too, their presence was most welcomed.

            “I can assure you, Frodo Baggins,” The lady said in a cool voice like flowing water, “there is nowhere else either of us would rather be.”

            Frodo gave them a smile. He should have known better than to try and keep such thoughts private and judging from the soft smile he received from Lady Galadriel, she agreed.

            “The time has come,” Gandalf said quietly as he reached over and placed a hand over Bilbo’s folded ones. Both Elrond and Galadriel nodded agreement and moved to either side at the head of Bilbo’s bed; there they both reached out to Bilbo, each placing a hand on one of Bilbo’s shoulders.

            “Will their power be enough for this?” Lord Elrond asked.

            “Yes,” Galadriel said in her soft voice while Gandalf merely nodded.

            It was then Frodo noticed that each hand the three beings had extended were all the ones that wore the former Elven rings of power. At the same time, he saw that all three rings began to sparkle as if catching the light of the mid-day sun; yet the room was only bathed in soft, dappled moonlight.

            “I thought the rings had lost all their powers?” Frodo whispered, completely perplexed. After the One Ring was destroyed, all the rings of power had faded, or so Lady Galadriel herself had told him.

            “They have lost their power to command,” Lord Elrond said. “But they are not completely powerless.”

            “There is enough for this.”

            “Enough for what?” Frodo was even more confused.

            Gandalf merely held up his free hand to silence Frodo, before turning his attention back to Bilbo.

            Frodo too returned his eyes to his uncle and noticed that while Bilbo’s breathing had evened out, it was slowing even more and the Hobbit seemed to sink further into the pillows and soft bed. The room suddenly brightened as the clouds parted completely and the bright, full moon filled the room with extraordinary brilliance.

            It was then Frodo heard footsteps. Like the footsteps of the Elven Lord and Lady, these were not urgent or rushed but they were determined, heavier—solid, but they didn’t sound unpleasant. They echoed like heavy boots on earth and grass. There was also the sound of chimes. _No, not chimes_ , Frodo thought, _something else_ – and Frodo remembered Aragon and Boromir, the sounds of their belt buckles, swords, armor and chain mail, hitting and striking each other—metal on metal. But like the boots, the sound was softer, more melodious, like bells in the far off distance, but there was no mistaking it; whoever approached was a warrior and they were dressed as if for battle.

            Frodo was not sure what to make of it. Why would anyone be dressed as a warrior, let alone _for battle_ , in Valinor? It made no sense. And the footfalls—he couldn’t claim to be an expert but they didn’t sound Elven; they sound liked—well, like Gimli’s would have. But he knew that was impossible; there were no Dwarfs in Valinor! What was even odder was when he turned to the others in the room and they showed no sign of concern or surprise at the sounds – and yet they must hear it!

            Frodo was tempted to ask, but he remained silent.

The footsteps stopped right outside the doors, which swung open slowly and steadily. Frodo looked to see who was there but saw – nothing.

            There wasn’t anyone there.

            Frodo was about to ask Gandalf for an explanation when there appeared smoke at the foot of Bilbo’s bed. _Not smoke—more like clouds or vapor._ It swirled and curled but rather than drift in all directions, this rose like a column until it began to take shape.

            _It was taking shape!_

            There before his unbelieving eyes, stood a Dwarf. Frodo was reminded of the Wraiths but this ghost or spirit—what have you—filled him not with dread but with a peace. Frodo was almost overwhelmed with the emotion. His heart skipped a few beats and Frodo was almost lightheaded. It dawned on him that what he was feeling was coming _from_ the Dwarf and—could it be, desire? Was it passion? No, it was purer than that, it was like the caress of the summer breeze; like the taste of sun-warm strawberries; like the brush of lips upon his own—it was love.

            Frodo knew not who the Dwarf was—he had never seen the being before, but he was amazed because the spirit was handsome and he wondered vaguely, how impressive must this Dwarf have been when living? What must it have been like to be in his presence?

            The Dwarf-spirit took no notice of Frodo; it took no notice of anyone in the room, save for Bilbo—as if he was the only being in the world.

            Frodo turned to look at his Uncle and saw him smiling gently at the spirit and his eyes were sparkling with tears which slowly rolled down from his eyes as the elderly Hobbit took a last, deep breath and then stilled.

            Frodo’s breath hitched and he almost gave up to tears himself but turned his head as he noticed the Dwarf spirit move aside just as the youthful ghost of his uncle appeared beside the Dwarf. The two spirits turned to each other and Frodo was once again filled with the overwhelming feeling of love and completeness. They reached for each other; the Dwarf cupping Bilbo’s face with both hands while Bilbo’s hands came up and rested upon the Dwarf’s arms, and they drew each other closer; their foreheads resting together.

            “ _Sanâzyung_ ,” the Dwarf whispered—as soft as a heartbeat, as both spirits began to merge and swirl together until they simply drifted away like so much smoke on the air.

            Frodo continued to stare at the spot where the two ghosts had been—it felt as it had been a dream and yet, he knew it was real. Frodo turned his head when he heard the Elf Lady speak.

            “It is done then,” Galadriel said, quietly. “They are at peace,”

            “At long last,” Elrond added softly.

            “As they always should have been,” Gandalf whispered.

            Frodo took a few breaths and had so many questions but before he could ask anything, Lord Elrond addressed him. “Frodo—Bilbo left detailed instructs regarding his remains. Unless you have other ideas –”

            “No,” Frodo said, tears pooling in his eyes. “I want to follow his wishes.”

            “Then we will see to everything.” Lord Elrond made to leave and Lady Galadriel moved to follow but stopped to gaze at Frodo.

            “Do not weep, Frodo Baggins,” Lady Galadriel said with a gentle, graceful smile. “You will see him again.”

            As the Elves departed, Frodo turned to his friend and asked, “Gandalf, who was that? Who was that Dwarf?”

            “Did you not hear of your Uncle’s adventures?” Gandalf asked lightly, a mirthful look in his eye which told Frodo that he knew perfectly well what was and wasn’t told.

            “Clearly not everything,” Frodo replied softly as they both stood up.

            Gandalf placed a hand on Frodo’s back to gently guide him out and away from death. “Then it is time you did,” Gandalf chuckled under his breath before continuing. “You see – long ago – in a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit. . . .”

 

_**FINIS** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL FOR STAYING WITH ME! I HOPE YOU HAVE ENJOYED READING THIS FANFIC AS MUCH AS I HAVE ENJOYED WRITING IT! FOR THOSE NOT WANTING THIS STORY OF BILBO AND THORIN AND THEIR FAMILY AND FRIENDS TO END, I SUGGEST YOU FOLLOW THEM ALL IN MY "DIVINE LIFE OF BILBO BAGGINS" SERIES!
> 
> Also, now that Path One is complete, i can turn my attention to Path Two - I hope you will follow me there!
> 
> \------------------
> 
>  **Khuz-dul Translations**  
>  Sanâzyung – perfect (true/pure) love
> 
>  **Lord Celeborn and Lothlorien**  
>  Indeed, according to written canon, Lord Celeborn did not depart with Lady Galadriel when she left for Valinor. He stayed in Lothlorien and while the Elven kingdom did expand a bit during his rule (it took over part of Southern Mirkwood), by the time of King Aragorn II Elessar’s passing in the year 120 FO (Fourth Age), the city was wholly abandoned.  
> ** Just a bit more trivia – the year Aragorn passed, was the same year that Gimli and Legolas left Middle Earth and sailed for Valinor.


End file.
